


A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by the_7th_swan



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, BAMF Tony DiNozzo, Guide Tony DiNozzo, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Multiple, Sentinel Jethro Gibbs, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25668088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_7th_swan/pseuds/the_7th_swan
Summary: The worst place to come online as a Guide has to be in the back of a van, having been kidnapped by a group of unsavoury individuals.Of course, that's just the sort of luck Tony is known for.Meanwhile, Gibbs has been called in to solve a high-profile case. With twelve lives on the line, the stakes couldn't be higher and the group of stuffed shirts breathing down his neck don't help matters.
Relationships: Anthony DiNozzo/Jethro Gibbs
Comments: 331
Kudos: 1004
Collections: Suggested Good Reads





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story possessed me. That's the only excuse I have. Since I haven't published a story since 2015, that is perhaps not altogether surprising news. Like many fans of NCIS, I lost interest in the series and, thus, in writing about it, a long time ago. I no longer watch the show at all. Because of that, this story is actually set pre-series, when Tony is still in Baltimore. 
> 
> If anything can be credited to my renewed surge of inexplicable interest, it is probably the Rough Trade site and the overabundance of S&G fics I've been reading lately. I woke up in the middle of the night with this story in mind and proceeded to write over 10000 words over the space of a weekend. The story I currently have is 15000 words and not yet complete. Because of this, the rating may be subject to change. Watch this space.
> 
> It's an S&G fic, obviously. And also (unlike me) somewhat of a case fic. It was supposed to be only from Tony's point of view, but Gibbs (the stubborn SOB) insisted on having his say. Thus, the POV shifts pretty constantly. These are all things I don't usually explore in my fics. As such, honest feedback would be appreciated if you have the time to give any. Otherwise, I hope you are all keeping safe during these troubled times and that this fic provides you with some small measure of joy.

Chapter specific warnings: swearing, mild references to unsavoury situations.

Chapter’s Theme Song: [A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing by This Providence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQlwI_ogMkw)

-o-o-o-o-

_  
_ _beat me down  
_ _I’ll still be here  
_ _you cannot break me  
_ _for diamonds  
_ _do not shatter  
  
_

-o-o **Prologue** o-o-

Tony awoke in pain.

  
Mind-numbing, overwhelming, all-encompassing _pain_.  
  


He bit his lip so hard that it bled and, as such, all that escaped him was a wounded whimper rather than the scream trapped behind his teeth.  
  


“Good, good, don’t scream, don’t let them know. Deep breaths now, brother. We’re going to build a shield.”  
  


A distant part of Tony latched onto that voice and held tight. The rest of him was too busy crying out in abject misery. He felt like he was going to die.  
  


“I know it hurts, I know, I know. Shh, shh, shh. Focus on me, focus. A shield, brother. You have to make a shield. Block it out.”

 _  
How the **fuck** am I supposed to do **that**?_ Tony wanted to snarl. But the voice was telling him, talking him through the process over and over and over again.  
  


_it hurt, it hurt, it **hurt  
  
**_

Tony curled his fingers tight, the knuckles on each hand clenching down on some sort of material. The voice continued its instructions and, haltingly, Tony began to follow them.  
  


The more of the shield he built, the more the pain began to dull and the more of the shield he was able to construct. It was hard work and Tony got the distinct sense that someone should have be helping him do this. Instead, he was doing it alone.  
  


 _Typical_.

  
Finally, the shield snapped fully into place and the pain dulled from _I’m going to die_ to _so this is what a migraine feels like_.

  
He became abruptly aware that he was curled up in someone’s lap like a two-year-old. A hand was on his head, stroking soothingly through his hair. Another was wrapped around his back, holding him steady. Tony promised himself he’d be properly mortified later. Right this moment, he was too fucking worn-out to even bother opening his eyes.

  
“Good, good, well done, you did great, rest now brother, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Let it go.”  
  


Obligingly, Tony did.


	2. The Lay of the Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, Jethro Gibbs is on the case. 
> 
> In other news, Tony would like to state (for the record) that this is total bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:  
> S&G = The Sentinel and Guide Centre. A government body that looks after the rights and interests of Guides and Sentinels in the community, as well as those marked Latent. 
> 
> Latent = Someone that is not online as a Guide or a Sentinel but has the blood markers present and, thus, could one day come online. Some, however, never do.
> 
> Mundane = How the S&G centre refer to those without the gene. See also, 'Muggle'. 
> 
> Match Making = Like going to a Speed Dating event, but for Sentinel and Guides. Usually, Guides register first and Sentinels are invited based on compatibility.

Chapter specific warnings: swearing (our boys both curse a lot), non-consensual drug use and all the nasty things that come with being held captive – chains and locks and all that jazz.

Chapter’s Theme Song: [Winter by Joshua Radin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHlf08yTPiU)

-o-o-o-o-  
  


_I need to see the problem  
_ _I need to see the scope  
_ _I need a pen and pencil  
_ _And every isotope  
_ _Give me the equation  
_ _I need the x and y  
_ _I need to know the law  
_ _So I know which will apply  
_ _I need to see before me  
_ _To know exactly where I stand  
_ _And, thus, better determine  
_ _The lay of the land  
  
_

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

Despite himself, Jethro was curious.  
  


It wasn’t often he was invited to the Hoover building, department inter-cooperation being what it was. The fact he was here at all probably meant things were utterly FUBAR and the usual dick-swinging that went on had been put on hold.  
  


He was even more bewildered when he entered the designated conference room. It was a madhouse and a veritable checkerboard of organisations. He was frankly amazed they’d managed to haul so many people out of bed.  
  


Tom Morrow was there, of course, and so was the FBI’s director Brent Spector. Jethro also recognised Fornell, looking just as clueless as he was. No one else around the table rang a bell but they all looked suitably important. Jethro was surprised to recognise a Police Sergeant in their midst. That was unusual.   
  


He took the only seat available and returned Fornell’s nod of acknowledgment with one of his own. It seemed like he was the last one to arrive for, soon after, the conference doors were closed and Spector was getting smoothly to his feet. Perhaps understandably, he was the one who’d been chosen to run the debrief.  
  


“I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here,” he began abruptly, “So I’ll get straight to the point.”  
  


Jethro knew he liked this guy.  
  


“At approximately 2230 last night, a group of at least three individuals attacked a Match Making event in Baltimore.”  
  


Abruptly, the screen on the wall lit up, showcasing a picture of the venue in question. As was typical with Match Making events, it was some sort of hall. Likely attached to a Sentinel and Guide community centre.

  
“They hurled an unknown toxin through the windows. An analysis is being conducted as we speak but most likely the compound was some sort of knock out juice. It rendered everyone in the room unconscious for a period of around thirty minutes. During this time, eleven unbonded Guides and one Mundane were taken.”  
  


Kidnapped Guides. Jesus Fucking Christ, that explained things. No wonder there were several representatives from the S&G centre present. One was likely a Guide themselves, on hand in case a Sentinel in the room went feral at the thought of Guides in danger.

  
Jethro felt his own Sentinel stir and, firmly, he kept up his iron control of his senses. The brief shudder that went through the room was no doubt the other Sentinels doing the same thing. Spector waited them out and then gestured sharply to the screen.

  
A photo came up. A young woman, plain looking, with a kind smile.  
  


“Margaret Davis,” Spector said. As he spoke, a young agent made her way around the table, quickly dealing out manila files to them all. Jethro opened his up to find the woman from the screen staring up at him, along with all the information they had on her. He quickly skimmed the highlights.  
  


Female, 21, online fifteen months. This had been her first event.  
  


Spector summarised the main points from her file and then there was a sharp click. Margaret Davis disappeared from the screen and a new visage took her place.  
  


“Lieutenant Michael Gatfield. Our oldest Guide in the bunch. He’s 42, been online six years.”

  
Jethro turned the page. Michael was good looking: strong jaw, dark eyes, determined expression. This Guide was likely the reason that he and Morrow had been invited to the party. Jethro scanned his info.  
  


Michael was a lifer. He’d joined the marines at 18 and never looked back. A hard worker, from all accounts, but one not interested climbing the ranks. Jethro respected that.  
  


“Liam Banks,” Spector continued, a new photo flashing up. “38. Online almost a decade. A middle school teacher.”  
  


The computer clicked again and, steadily, they made their way through the next seven Guides. Whoever had taken them clearly had no set type. The missing included a mix of woman and men, a range of ages and a variety of racial backgrounds.  
  


Irrevocably, they got to Sophie Nash, the last Guide. 29, exotic features, online two and a half years.  
  


“You mentioned a Mundane?” a woman representing the S&G centre pipped up.  
  


“Yes,” Spector agreed and the final photo flashed up onto the screen, “Detective Anthony DiNozzo Junior from the Baltimore PD. 31 years old, and the only child of two Sentinels. Somehow, he seems to have dodged the gene. According to a Sentinel at the scene, DiNozzo was there to lend him moral support and, essentially, act as a wingman. We think the kidnappers mistook him for a Guide and took him accidently.”  
  


The Police Sergeant made an unflattering noise and everyone’s attention quickly swivelled to her.  
  


“That’s DiNozzo all over,” she remarked, “He has just that sort of luck.”  
  


Since the Mundane was a Police Detective, they had quite a bit more information about him than the others. Jethro skimmed through it with growing respect.  
  


“Jesus,” Fornell muttered, clearly noticing the same, “He has a gold shield. And a commendation from the Philadelphia PD.”  
  


“He brought down the Mercusio family,” the Police Sergeant agreed, “But they liked him so much that the hit they have out on him only pays out if it’s done within the city borders.”  
  


“You think he’ll be a help to those Guides?” Morrow asked bluntly.  
  


“DiNozzo is scrappy,” she replied frankly, “The situations that boy comes out of make my head spin. He’s smart, intuitive and quick on his feet. He’ll do what he can.”  
  


“But not a Guide,” another suit checked.  
  


“Not according to our records,” the member from the S&G council agreed, “But, child of two Sentinels? The odds of him being a Guide are astronomical. I doubt anyone has ever thought to test him. I do know they ran the test looking for the latent Sentinel gene more times than seems necessary.”  
  


“Is that at all unusual? A child of two Sentinel’s being a Mundane?”  
  


“Yes, very,” the S&G woman agreed, “Which is likely why they kept testing him. No dice. It happens.”  
  


She shrugged philosophically.  
  


“Right,” Spector cut in, corralling them back on track, “On to our suspects. Of course, the venue that was attacked had pretty minimal security. So no camera footage. All we have are stills of the van they used, most likely stolen.”  
  


Pictures of the van went up onto the screen. The license plate was clearly visible.  
  


“No other forensic evidence has turned up at the venue itself, which isn’t surprising. Too many people there to get anything useful. So the van is what we got, at least until we get something back on the capsules that they used to gas the place.”  
  


“We’re throwing you together for this one,” Morrow put in, “Agents Gibbs and Fornell will be taking point. Assisting them will be Guide June Hopkins and Sentinel Tyler Brown from the S&G centre.”  
  


“The Baltimore PD will be doing the grunt work,” the Police Sergeant added, “We’ve started interviewing witnesses and we’re checking names against the sign in sheet to make sure we have everyone accounted for. We’re also going to be the main force in any backup you require, since we have the most hands available. I’ll be liaising with your team personally.”  
  


“The Hoover building will be your base of operations,” Spector continued, “We’ve put a room aside for you. It should have everything you need but if not, ask.”  
  


And, just like that, the meeting came to an abrupt close.  
  


Fornell honed in on him straight away.

  
“Jesus, what a clusterfuck.”   
  


“I’ll say.”  
  


“You gonna be able to hold it together?”  
  


Jethro glared at him for that and, defensively, Fornell held up two hands to ward him off.  
  


“Had to ask,” he pointed out, “Frankly, I’m surprised Morrow pushed for your involvement. An unbonded Sentinel looking for unbonded Guides? Isn’t that a recipe for disaster?”  
  


“Chances of a match are pretty slim,” Jethro returned, grudgingly seeing the sense in Fornell’s questions.  
  


The fact he’d had a Guide once already (let alone lost her in such horrific circumstances) made that slim chance pretty much zero. Sentinels that lost a Bond Mate rarely bonded again. Frankly, it was a small miracle her death hadn’t sent him Dormant.  
  


“Having an unbonded Sentinel along will provide us with good info,” the woman from the S&G Centre cut in. “Boded Sentinels are too focused on their Guides. Agent Gibbs will be able to sense things Tyler can’t.”  
  


“Tyler Brown,” a man said pointedly, shaking Fornell’s hand but not Jethro’s. Clearly, he knew better than to try. “And this is my partner, June Hopkins. No, we’re not Bonded.”  
  


Likely, they got asked that a lot. It was pretty unusual for Bonded pairs not to work together. Most companies bent over backwards to make it possible. It was curious that neither had their mate with them.  
  


“Excuse me? I’m supposed to lead you to your assigned work space.”  
  


Fornell waved at the hovering man dismissively but they began following him regardless. Jethro took the time to observe his new teammates. He and Fornell had worked together before, of course, but never with the S&G. Like every other Agency under the sun, they were relentless with jurisdiction and rarely played well with others.  
  


June walked with confidence. She wore very sensible shoes, which struck Jethro only because so few women he knew did. Her hair was a mousy brown and artfully windswept. She had brown eyes partially hidden behind a pair of no-nonsense glasses. Jethro pegged her age as mid-thirties and her status as a Level 3. Definitely the youngest of them all.  
  


Tyler, by contrast, was likely in his mid forties. He was a solidly build man, black beard cropped close to his face and dark eyes. He wore a scarf around his head that was tethered in place by a variety of intricate wraps Jethro couldn’t follow at all. He was more conservatively dressed than he or Fornell. Jethro clocked him as a Level 6 Sentinel.  
  


Jethro’s Sentinel didn’t raise it’s hackles at all so clearly it didn’t view the guy as a threat. Likely because the other man was Bonded. Or perhaps because his ranking wasn’t as high as Jethro’s own. Maybe a combination of both. Sentinel and Guide interactions were so convoluted that Jethro himself didn’t understand most of it. A lot of it was instinct.  
  


“Here we are,” the man leading them gestured at a door.  
  


Likely without thinking, Tyler stepped back to allow Jethro into the room first. Jethro took the invite and swiftly did a quick lap of the place, taking it in. As rooms went, it was pretty basic. A series of desks, each equipped with a monitor. A whiteboard and some different coloured markers. A coffee machine.  
  


Jethro dumped his shit onto the desk closest to the machine, officially claiming it. Tyler and June picked their own stations, directly next to each other and across from him. Fornell claimed the one that was left, beside Jethro’s own.  
  


Tyler and June each took a seat, June perching on the edge of her desk. As the highest-ranking Sentinel in the room, they both looked instinctively at him for guidance. Fornell, the one Mundane, let out a complicated sigh before following the suit. Despite the man’s faults, he could definitely read the room and wasn’t stupid enough to get in the middle of the S&G politics going on.  
  


“Right,” Jethro began, bending down to start his computer up and then heading purposefully towards the whiteboard, “Let’s get started.”

Tyler Brown June Hopkins

Sentinel Guide 

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

  
“What the hell is wrong with _him_?”  
  


Wow, everything hurt. Ached deep down in way similar to how he felt after playing a game of football. Or maybe 100 games back to back.  
  


“He had a bad reaction to the Guide suppression drug you dosed us with. Which is what happens when you give the drug to someone who _isn’t a Guide_.”  
  


Someone was clearly pissed. Tony was tempted to see who for around 0.0001% of a second. His eyelids hurt too much to bother.  
  


“We sure he not a Guide?” a third voice cut in, “He’s sure pretty enough.”  
  


Well that was uncalled for.  
  


“He’s down on the registry as a Mundane.” the first voice replied dismissively, “But feel free to double check.”  
  


There was a brief pause. Tony felt… something. Like a soft wind against his skin, only it swept enquiringly across the surface of his mind. Tony clenched down so hard on his shields that it physically hurt. Very, very firmly, he projected a single thought:  
  


_these aren’t the droids you’re looking for  
  
_

The caress retreated.  
  


“Blank slate,” the voice reported at last, “Definitely Mundane. Damn it. Should we kill him?”  
  


Okay, that was an ominous question. Tony should probably care more about that than he did. Later. When his brain no longer felt like mush.  
  


“Nah. Look at him. I’m sure someone will be interested, even if he ain’t a Guide. Probably worth something.”  
  


“Stupid,” the other grumped, “We should have double checked.”  
  


“ _You_ should have double checked. Your mistake.”  
  


“Didn’t exactly have time to do a deep scan! He was at a Match Making! The whole point of those bloody events is for Sentinels and Guides to meet up. I just went deep enough to get _not a Sentinel_. What was I supposed to think?”  
  


“Doesn’t matter now,” the other replied offhandedly, “Z didn’t seem too pissed.”  
  


“True. Thank Christ. Is that all of them, then?”  
  


“One more dose for the Asian chick. Marine Guy is right, we shouldn’t stick the Mundane. It might kill him.”  
  


A few moments later there was a soft cry and the clear sound of someone in tears.  
  


“Suck it up,” one of the voices snapped, “Ya baby. You’re crying now? This ain’t nothing. Just you wait. Then you’ll have somethin’ to cry about.”  
  


There was some muffled sobbing, the sound of someone trying to hold it back and unable to do so. Thankfully, Bad Guy 1 and 2 retreated soon afterwards. They chatted as they made their way across the room and, instinctively, Tony tracked them.  
  


 _wooden floors_ , his ears told him, _high ceilings. big space. probably a shed or a barn.  
  
_

The sound of a door opening. Then of locks sliding home.  


_one… two… three.  
  
_

Fabulous.  
  


Tony waited another minute and then let loose a heartfelt sigh. It was time to get up.  
  


Harder than it sounded.  
  


Tony braced his palms against the floorboards and pushed. He felt utterly exhausted but the sleep he dearly wanted was out of the question. He needed to assess his situation.  
  


“Careful there, brother. Easy does it. You’ve had a shock.”  
  


Tony pulled a deep breath in and curled a leg underneath himself so he could better support his own weight and lever his body into a sitting position.  
  


He shook his head, trying forcibly to clear it, and then pried his eyes open.  
  


_ow ow ow ow ow  
  
_

Okay, wow, hello headache. Instinctively, Tony brought a hand to his temple as he winced. Thank fuck, the prison wasn’t very well lit. And it was dark outside.  
  


“Hey there. You okay?”  
  


Tony didn’t answer straight away, mostly because voicing an affirmative was a lie he didn’t think he could get away with right then. He focused instead on keeping his breath steady and blinking rapidly. When he felt marginally steadier, he gathered his strength and looked around.  
  


Definitely a shed.  
  


Wooden, as guessed. Maybe 4x3. Someone had gutted the whole place out so that all that remained were four walls and a cavernous roof. The floor was littered with mattresses, sleeping blankets, old towels and buckets. Arranged periodically around the room were people, all of them chained by their ankles to the nearest wall. Tony counted eleven altogether. All of them were individuals he recognised from the Match Making.  
  


Absently, he checked his other leg and, yep, chained to a wall. Swell.  
  


“I feel like crap,” Tony admitted since he couldn’t do otherwise.  
  


“Yeah, you nearly died.”  
  


It sure felt like it. Jesus Christ. Tony focused his attention on the man chained across the room from him. He was a big guy with an expression like granite. Tony recognised the look in his eyes. This was a man who’d been in the line of fire and come away unscathed. Fellow cop? Federal Agent? No, Tony’s gut said _military_. Something about the set of his shoulders, maybe.  
  


“Lieutenant Michael Gatfield, US Marine.” he introduced himself, clearly seeing the unspoken question.  
  


“You’re the one that helped me.” Tony noted, recognising the voice.

  
“Yeah,” Michael agreed easily, “Only sorry I couldn’t do more.”  
  


Tony waved that off, doing another quick scan of the room. The other Guides watched him back but didn’t speak. Tony got the distinct impression that they’d deferred control to Michael; appointed him to lead the discussion. Tony obligingly turned his attention back to the Lieutenant.  
  


“What happened?”  
  


“They threw us into the back of a track and gassed us with a mild Guide suppression drug. It quashes our gifts, but not as effectively as the serum does. Most Mundanes or Latents wouldn’t be affected at all. Somehow, with you it did the opposite and forced you online.”  
  


Despite the shield he’d had to construct, Tony couldn’t help but be surprised as he finally realised what that meant.

  
“I’m a Guide.”  
  


“Yep,” Michael acknowledged cautiously, “You sound surprised. Weren’t you Latent?”  
  


“As a Guide? Who the hell knows. I don’t think I was ever tested. Both my parents are Sentinels.”  
  


And supremely disappointed he’d never tested as Latent. Idly, he wondered how his father would take the news that he’d finally come online as a _Guide_. Not well, he predicted.  
  
“Jesus,” Michael muttered, “No wonder.”

  
Tony was totally going to regret this but…

  
“No wonder?”

  
“Your empathy is off the charts,” Michael replied bluntly, “I’ve never heard of the Guide suppression drug forcing someone to come online before. The fact that you came online in a traumatic event and were still able to build your walls -without help? Unheard of. I’m amazed your cognizant. And then, if I read that interaction right, you were able to hide from a scan. No one else in this room could have done that.”

  
Tony swept his eyes around. Sure enough, everyone else looked suitably freaked out. Great.

  
“Guides born from Sentinels are rare for a reason,” Michael continued, “They’re almost all high level. Can you feel the house from here?”

  
What the hell? _Feel the house?  
  
_

“Try,” Michael prompted gently, “Reach out.”

  
Tony intuitively closed his eyes. He felt dizzy but he was also too curious to resist. Hesitantly, he relaxed his shield and reached it outwards.

  
The Guides in the room felt strange. Oddly muffled in a way that was like nails on a chalkboard. Undoubtedly the drug dulling their emotions and making them harder to read.  
  


Tony kept going. The house was close by and though Tony couldn’t _see_ it, he could _sense_ it. In his mind’s eye he was even aware of the layout. Modest, single story, three rooms. Four bad guys. One Sentinel. As he swept his presence over them, he got a clear snap shot of their emotional landscape.  
  


Satisfaction was the most prevalent. Followed closely by greed and a mild sense of impatience. One of the four was also feeling a profound bout of lust and an annoyance that he wouldn’t be able to act on it.  
  


He remembered his Jedi mind trick and got a distinct impression of just how easy it would be to manipulate these men further. Send them to sleep, maybe, or sow discord between them.  
  


Deeply disturbed, he retreated back to his body and set about restabilising his shields. It was easier to shore them up now he knew what he was doing. That seemed to be the only solace he had in this whole fucked up situation.  
  


Once his walls were built again, Tony swayed. He felt tired in a way that went beyond the physical.  
  


“You could feel them, couldn’t you brother?”  
  


“Tony,” Tony corrected, even as he let himself curl back up on the floor, “And yeah. Four of them. Single story house. I think we’re in Shenandoah National Park.”  
  


“Good,” Michael pronounced, sounding deeply satisfied, “You did good, Tony. You go ahead and get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

  
That was disquieting. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the strength to deal with it now. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have the energy to anything but follow the order.

  
He slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "These aren't the droid you're looking for" is a Star Wars reference, for those of you who don't recognise it. Because heaven forbid Tony go three seconds without making a movie reference. 
> 
> Hopefully, it won't be too long until the next chapter. Definitely by this time next week. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think and, as always, stay safe out there.


	3. On the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony exercises some patience and goes fishing. 
> 
> Jethro, meanwhile, prefers to stalk his prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:
> 
> The use of technology in this fic far outstrips what would have been available at the time. Modern day tech is present with no explanation, because I don't know enough about when exactly Tony was in Baltimore and it became too hard trying to figure out what phones were capable of then (or if they were even a thing). So meh. 
> 
> The summary of this chapter is a metaphor. Just in case that wan't clear.

Chapter specific warnings: very mild mentions of violence and non-con drug use   
  


Chapter’s Theme Song: [Animal by Aurora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DIT8Y3LC6M)

-o-o-o-o-

 _  
_ _On the hunt  
_ _Perched for the kill  
_ _Knives out and ready  
_ _For the blood to spill  
_ _Traps are set  
_ _And bait is laid  
_ _The ground prepared  
_ _And well surveyed  
_ _Duck down low  
_ _I’ll wait in a trance  
_ _Now on the scent  
_ _They don’t stand a chance  
  
_

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

  
It turned out the drugs had been stolen from a military base months ago. Which meant one of their perps was a service man.  
  


That pissed Jethro off something fierce.  
  


It also meant the drugs were a dead end. The base had investigated and determined that the lab hadn’t been properly sealed or monitored. Literally anyone wearing a uniform could have walked in, cleared the place out, and walked right back out again.   
  


That pissed him off too. Worse, it meant that the stolen van was their only real lead.  
  


It was easy enough to track down. Their perps had stolen it from a car rental agency three days before the attack. As soon as the clock hit 0800, Jethro gathered up his team and went.  
  


 _Driveaway Cars_ was a small dealership on the edge of the city. The guy behind the counter didn’t seem overly thrilled to see them, for all that they were there investigating a theft against his workplace.  
  


“Not the best neighbourhood,” the guy shrugged, “We’re insured.”  
  


“You got security tapes?” Jethro demanded, pointing to the cameras prominently displayed around the office.  
  


“They’re just for show,” the guy returned, somewhat apologetically, “But we equip all out cars with a GPS tracking system.”  
  


“Well?” Fornell demanded at once, “Get tracking then!”  
  


The guy jumped and hastily turned back to his computer, typing a rapid series of numbers in and navigating through the relevant software in a few efficient clicks.

  
“Here,” he turned the monitor around, “I’m getting a reading from Cherry Hill. That’s not far from here.”  
  


June took a glance at the blinking light and quickly input the address into her phone. She looked up and nodded sharply.  
  


Jethro didn’t wait around. He made his way back to his car without casting a second look at the idiot behind the counter.  
  


The others followed closely on his heels and June, by unspoken agreement, slid into the front seat. She buckled herself in, grabbed the handle on the roof with her free hand and turned her attention back to her phone.  
  


To her credit, she barely winced as he drove at breakneck speed and continued to rattle off directions with a remarkable proficiency.

  
They made it to Cherry Hill in a matter of minutes and the van was easy to find. It had been dumped along the side of the road, the doors left open.

  
“Bleach,” Tyler reported, “We won’t be able to track a scent from here. They’re smart, Gibbs.”  
  


“Not smart enough,” Jethro remarked, pointing across the street.  
  


Fornell followed his gesture and made a small noise of satisfaction.  
  


Diagonally across the street, only just in range to be of any use of all, was a bank equipped with two ATMS.  
  


-o-o **Tony** o-o-  
  


  
When Tony awoke, it was dawn and he felt almost normal.  
  


A quick skim of the room confirmed that everyone else was sleeping. Tony took the time to do a quick inventory.  
  


The bad guys had taken his shoes, his jacket and his gun. He hadn’t thought to take his badge to the Match Making so hopefully they hadn’t pegged him as a cop. Being underestimated would be an advantage. Thankfully, they’d left him with his belt, where Tony kept a knife and a pair of paperclips. He couldn’t help but be a little smug about that. The paperclips, particularly, were a relatively new addition.

  
But they’d be useless for the door. He’d have to plan it out carefully. Some idea of where to escape _to_ would be a good start.  
  


He’d been able to feel the house. How far did his reach go? If he found people nearby, would that knowledge come with a sense of direction?  
  


Time to give it the old college try.  
  


Tony scooted closer to the wall, just near enough so that he could pull both legs underneath himself and cross them. He rested his chin against his chest and let his eyes fall closed.  
  


Last night, he’d had no idea what he was doing. This time, he at least had a clue. He was also prepared to start off more cautiously.

  
He experimented first, lowering and rising his shield and synching it with his breathing. He crept his senses out slowly, gingerly.

  
The Guides in the room were still muffled to him. The only distinguishable emotion he could detect among them was fear. That was certainly fair enough.  
  


He extended himself to the house. Only one of the bad guys was awake, watching television. The look out. He felt bored and uninterested in making an impromptu trip to the shed so Tony let him be.  
  


He crept himself out further. Animals were harder to sense. They felt odd. It kind of made his brain hurt. He stopped lingering and kept going.

He got the impression this would be easier if he chose a single direction and focused himself that way. Instead, with no idea of where they were, Tony was forced to reach out in an ever-extending circle.  
  


The further out he went, the more difficult it became. Rather than risk hurting himself, he scaled his expansion down to a crawl. _breathe in, hold. breathe out, reach out_.

  
An emotion.

  
Immediately, Tony swung all his attention around and sharpened it. The move gave him mental whiplash but it also eased the overall burden and allowed Tony to examine the emotion more closely.

_  
sleep, tired, content, warm, lazy, on the cusp of waking._

  
Someone in a bed then. He couldn’t sense the house at this distance. That was likely beyond him without some training. Or maybe a camper?  
  


No, a camping ground would be busier in the middle of spring. Definitely a house.  
  


Tony tried to figure out where it was. This was more difficult. Tony found he could point to it but not clearly articulate it. The distance as well was vague. Somewhere between 8 to 12 miles.  
  


Tony grimaced and pulled himself back. That sort of trek wouldn’t be fun with a group of twelve.  
  


“Got something?”  
  


“Jesus Christ!”  
  


Michael raised a brow, looking utterly unapologetic.  
  


“Yeah,” Tony admitted once he’d caught his breath, “A house with a single occupant. Maybe 8 to 12 miles away.”  
  


“Or you could just kill the bad guys,” Michael suggested calmly, “Save us the walk.”  
  


“They’re selling us,” Tony pointed out, since that much was obvious, “Who knows how far away help is. What if who they’re selling us to gets here first? We’re hardly equipped for a fight. And besides, I’m a cop. Don’t really feel comfortable killing a bunch of guys with my mind, let alone in cold blood. The park is massive and there’s only a few of them. If I knock them out first, we can get a decent head start. It’ll be hard for them to guess which way we went.”  
  


“Unless one of them can track us,” Michael argued.  
  


“Possible,” Tony allowed, “But one guy I can manage. Especially since I imagine you’ll all be able to help me by then. How long does the drug last?”  
  


“Twenty-four hours, or thereabouts. And they make our shields fray. We won’t be of much use when they finally come back. In fact, we might be a hinderance. I’d recommend we leave straight after we get a dose and hope like hell we can get to help and make it to a centre before it wears off. Otherwise you’ll have to buffer us all. Not sure even you could do that. Not eleven Guides in crisis.”

  
“Great,” Tony muttered darkly.

  
“Future us problems,” Michael noted pragmatically, “First we need to gather some intel. And quickly. Not sure how long human auctions take but my guess would be not long enough.”  
  
  
“Better get ready,” Tony warned, leaning himself more solidly against the wall behind him, “They’re awake.”

  
Tony raised his shields as high as they would go and put on his most guileless mask.  
  


_lights, camera, action  
  
_

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-  
  


  
Unlike the dealership, the ATM cameras were _not_ for show.  
  


The street was well chosen apart from that – no street lights, no shops, long stretches of shops for lease. The ATMs were easy to miss. Lucky for them.   
  


Tyler let the tapes play on a big screen while June hovered at the whiteboard to add to the timeline. Jethro and Fornell stood watching the footage, looking for the slightest slip.  
  


The second van was dropped off the day before the attack at 0300 hours. The perp wore a hoodie to obscure his face but Jethro still took note of his height and gender, as well as any details he could make out of the van. Behind him, June added the time to their sequence of events.  
  


As expected, it was shortly after midnight when the stolen van pulled up. Three men climbed out and opened the back doors. Then, working together, they transferred the bodies over. Jethro kept count. Twelve. Thank Christ, they hadn’t dumped the Mundane.  
  


The bodies were treated carelessly, all but thrown into the back of the second van. This one clearly didn’t fit the three of them in the front, so one climbed in the back and closed the doors behind him. Shortly afterwards, the van took off.  
  


Jethro nodded at Tyler and, obediently, the other Sentinel rewound the tape. This time Jethro watched the bodies.

  
He thought he saw a few of them moving, which was reassuring. Another rewind and Jethro turned his attention to the perps. All male. The tallest one was the Marine. Something about the way he moved. The shortest was a Sentinel. He was too aware of his surroundings to be anything else.

  
They were smart enough to wear balaclavas so no faces. Not unexpected but Jethro couldn’t help feel a faint stir of confidence despite that. He was on their scent now. They’d already made one mistake. They would have made others.

  
It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently at 16,000 words and I think it's almost finished. I'm editing it myself as I go (which, with life being what it is, is taking me a while) but I'm still hopeful that it'll be complete soon. I'm not used to posting a fic before I finish it and it's making me anxious. Also, was the formatting on this site always so annoying? Finally remembered how to fix up the double spacing, so apologies for that.
> 
> As always, stay safe out there and a special thanks to all those working in the medical industry. You are all doing a great job!
> 
> If you read, please review.


	4. The Moment of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs picks up a scent.
> 
> Tony bides his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names given to the villains are explained at the end, for anyone interested. 
> 
> There's a link embedded in the * inside the brackets, also just in case anyone is curious. You'll know what it's for when you get there.

Chapter specific warnings: non-consensual drug use, very mild allusions to violence, cliffhanger. 

Chapter’s Theme Song: [you should see me in a crown by Billie Eilish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coLerbRvgsQ)

-o-o-o-o-

_  
_ _The moment of truth  
_ _Is everyone ready?  
_ _Hold on to your hats  
  
_

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

By the time the bad guys got there, all the Guides had been carefully woken up.  
  


The perps were confident. Tony knew this, because they held nothing back. All four of them entered the shed and, thus, Tony was able to observe all four.  
  


The tallest was a professional. It was in the way he walked. Army or Marine. Head Honcho, Tony decided. He could be Hans Gruber *.  
  


The shortest guy was the Sentinel. Likely the guy who had performed the scan on Tony and dismissed him as irrelevant. He was shabbily dressed and Tony could all but smell the desperation on him. Deeply in debt and desperate. Tony mentally dubbed him Jordon Belfort *.  
  


The last two were similarly built and all but bulging out of their tops. The hired muscle. Crabbe and Goyle then *.  
  


“We do not plan to treat you badly,” Hans Gruber declared. Annoyingly, he didn’t have even the trace of an accent. Bad casting, Tony chastised himself. “But the food and water we have on hand are dependent on your cooperation. You won’t be here long so, frankly, we don’t really care if you go hungry.”  
  


As he lectured them, Crabbe and Goyle went around distributing water bottles. No one was stupid enough to refuse them but nor did they get a single, absentminded _thank you_.  
  


“You said we had a Mundane?”  
  


“That one,” Jordon Belfort pointed out, “Do you think we can use him?”  
  


Hans came over and crouched down on his haunches just out of Tony’s striking range. Not a complete idiot then. Tony raised a challenging eyebrow and Hans huffed out an amused breath.  
  


“Not my usual fare,” he admitted easily, “But I’m sure we can find someone who’d be interested. He’s very pretty.”  
  


“You’re not my type,” Tony shot back automatically.

  
“Mouth on him,” Hans observed and, to Tony’s unease, with a faint gleam of interest in his eyes, “Some men might like that.”  
  


Hans was one such man, Tony realised. The sort of guy who would enjoy shutting Tony up.  
  


“You won’t be here long,” Hans said, lifting himself back to his feet and addressing them as a whole, “Many of you have already been bought and paid for. Day after tomorrow, you’ll all be divvied out. Apart from the fact that you’re chained fast, we’re currently surrounded by wildness and miles from civilisation. It’s better that you accept your fate now. Guides are precious, as I’m sure you are well aware. In all likelihood, you’ll be treated well. Escape is futile and, I promise you, not worth the pain it will cost you.”  
  


It seemed the room held its breath. Hans smiled around benignly and Tony revaluated his casting choices once more. Confident, clever but arrogant as hell.  
  


Yeah. Hans Gruber fit.  
  


-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

  
The mistake wasn’t in the new van.  
  


It was in the old.  
  


The perps had been careful. They’d tossed the driving mats, wiped down the seats and the steering wheel. Meticulously covered every spare surface with bleach.  
  


Despite all that, despite all their caution, they hadn’t been careful enough.  
  


Lodged along the side of the driver’s seat, trapped where searching fingers could not reach, was a ticket stub. A gambling receipt. Time, date and venue helpfully notarised along the base.  
  


_Gotcha.  
  
_

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

They were left alone until lunch. And then again until dinner, where Crabbe and Goyle made the rounds delivering the Guide suppression shots. Once again, they passed Tony over.

  
Other than these exciting events, the day involved a hell of a lot of sitting around. Because it was in his nature, Tony couldn’t help but try and keep everyone occupied.  
  


He divided them up into teams and they played games. Elimination _‘Never Have I Ever’_ , _‘Two Truths and a Lie’_ , _‘20 Questions’_ and _‘I’m Hosting a Party’_. He switched the teams up periodically and made sure to address everyone by name. [(*)](https://www.realsimple.com/holidays-entertaining/entertaining/party-games-ideas)

  
Tony was good with people and, at times like this, it showed. By lunch, everyone was markedly more relaxed and a couple had even laughed outright. Tony also had everyone’s name down pat and ran them through his head on repeat.  
  


_Michael, Liam, Margaret, Declan, Sophie, Fiona, James, Viaan, Ashton, Ewan, Nate.  
  
_

Of the lot, Margaret, Viaan and Sophie were the most vulnerable. Margaret was the youngest, Sophie the most frightened and Viaan kept a leg outstretched in such a way as to suggest an old injury. For a ten-mile hike, they would require the most support.

  
Fiona would be handy. He learned during _‘Never Have I Ever’_ that she was an experienced hiker. Ewan, as well, went camping every summer and apparently could do a little foraging. He’d have them take the lead.  
  


_Day after tomorrow_ , Hans had said. That didn’t leave them much time. Almost none, in fact. Worse, the timings on the shots meant they’d be travelling at night.  
  


No light, no map, no compass. Just Tony’s vague _that way_ sense to guide them. And a single day to prepare for it.  
  


Tony didn’t like it. A quick plan was one that was sure to go wrong. Still, nothing to be done for it. His gut was telling him not to stay put and, since it had saved his life on more than one occasion, he had no choice but to trust it

  
And hope like hell it wasn’t wrong.  
  


-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

Jethro couldn’t sleep.  
  


He tried for an hour and then gave up. Instead, he made his way to the basement and the boat. Well, this was what Fornell got for refusing to let him sleep at the Hoover building. Jethro was sure he could have worked a nap in there.  
  


Instead he was here, trying to focus his attention onto the wooden structure before him. With an active case on his mind, it was hard. Worse, Jethro wasn’t used to victims that were Guides. NCIS usually dealt with Mundanes. Otherwise the S&G team tended to swoop in.  
  


Guides in danger set his teeth on edge. Nature’s prerogative, he supposed. It also stirred up feelings of Shannon that were better off buried.  
  


He hadn’t been able to protect her or their daughter. He couldn’t let the same thing happen to the men and women being held captive.  
  


The Mundane detective further complicated things.  
  


His odds weren’t good. A group interested in kidnapping Guides wouldn’t want anything to do with a Mundane -let alone a cop. Hopefully the guy had managed to keep his profession on the down low. That way, he might actually have a chance.  
  


This wasn’t helping.  
  


Jethro dropped the hammer and checked his watch. 0440. If he stopped for a coffee on the way, he’d get to the Hoover building just after 0500. Knowing him, Fornell would already be there. The bloody hypocrite.  
  


-o-o **Tony** o-o-

Having a plan in place (no matter how badly constructed) made the wait the next day slightly more tolerable.  
  


Hans didn’t make an appearance. He was likely happy with the impression he’d left them with and his absence only further reinforced it. Tony couldn’t help but be grateful. The guy was an asshole.  
  


Playing games to pass the time wasn’t a real option anymore. Everyone was too keyed up to play properly. Waiting was the hardest thing but, in the meantime, there wasn’t anything else to do. Except spend countless hours chained to a wall.  
  


When the water came around at lunch, everyone obediently put it aside for safe keeping. They ate as much of the (terrible) food that they could stomach and made use of the buckets scattered throughout the room.  
  


An eternity later, the dinner came and with it, the needles.  
  


Crabbe and Goyle went around delivering the shots in tandem, one after the other.  
  


Tony waited until they’d delivered the last one.  
  


Then he struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:
> 
> Hans Gruber = the villain in Die Hard  
> Jordon Belfort = the stockbroker from The Wolf of Wall Street that loses everything  
> Crabbe and Goyle = Draco Malfoy's henchmen in Harry Potter. The movie version, of course, because that's more Tony's forte. 
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger. 
> 
> If you read, please review.


	5. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I which both Tony and Jethro end up having to make decisions they weren't really expecting having to make when this all started. 
> 
> Par for the course, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for the last cliffhanger, have a longer chapter. 
> 
> As a side note, I think this story will end up being just over 18,000 words as I'm currently writing the ending. So bear with me everyone -I think we're almost there. Maybe another two chapters to go?

Chapter specific warnings: quite a lot of swearing, very mild violence. 

Chapter’s Theme Song: [Titanium by David Guetta and featuring Sia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRfuAukYTKg)

-o-o-o-o-  
  


_No easy answers  
_ _No clearly drawn map  
_ _No guide book or index  
_ _With references included  
_ _Just a decision to make  
_ _And no time to think it through  
_ _Only to act_

  
-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

Casinos were one of the best places for law enforcement personal.

  
They were filled with cameras.  
  


The ticket stub made it almost too easy. A quick search on a computer and they had their first name. Kyle Angus. Male, 37, level 2 Sentinel, deeply in debt.  
  


It was the lead they’d been looking for.  
  


A sweep of Angus’ apartment didn’t turn up any hostages but it did lead to the discovery of a laptop. Fortunately, the guy wasn’t much of a hacker. The emails he’d deleted were easily recovered.  
  


“Selling Guides,” Tyler noted with distaste, “What sort of Sentinel is he? Why hasn’t he gone Dormant?”  
  


Jethro shrugged. Dormancy wasn’t an exact science. For every Sentinel that lost access to their superior senses when they turned to crime, there was another that never did. Apart from that, from what he could tell, Angus wasn’t accustomed to selling people on the black market. If this was his first time, Dormancy was probably still a long way off. Usually it took time.  
  


“Anything useful?” June asked the police detective the Baltimore PD had lent them. Watching her on the computer was insane. Jethro could barely see her fingers, they moved so fast.  
  


“No real names,” Officer Jones replied at once, “Just I.P. addresses. I’m trying to pin them down.”  
  


Fornell gestured at him sharply and, reluctantly, Jethro took a few steps back to give the girl some breathing room. Reminded himself sharply that rushing ahead was just as damaging as moving too slow.

  
“One of the addresses was last used at an internet café,” Jones declared at last, “The other at a university.”  
  


The university was likely a wash. They weren’t exactly known for their surveillance. They’d have more luck with the café.  
  


The others clearly thought the same, because June was already typing the address into her phone as he grabbed the car keys.

  
“Stay here,” he told the others, “Wait for us to give you a name. I want all the information you find prepared by the time we get back. Jones, keep looking. We’ve another two names to go.”  
  


Fornell and Jones nodded so Jethro left them to it, making his way to the garage. In the car beside him, June took her customary position -one hand on the handle, one on her phone.  
  


He slammed down the accelerator.  
  


-o-o **Tony** o-o-

Crabbe and Goyle crumpled to the floor. Inside the house, Hans and Jordon Belfort did the same.  
  


For a brief moment, Tony worried that he’d pushed too hard and killed them all. A quick sweep reassured him otherwise and, not wanting to waste any time, Tony fumbled to remove his belt.

  
The knife and paperclips were still in place, thank fuck. It was lucky the perps had chained his leg. Tony wasn’t sure he was skilled enough to uncuff his own hands.  
  


As it was, the shackle took longer than he would have liked. Tony hadn’t had much cause to lock-pick lately and he was out of practice. Cuffs were also much harder than doors.  
  


Finally, finally, _finally_ , they clicked open.  
  


Tony didn’t stop to celebrate. He moved straight on to Michael and set to work.

_  
Michael, Liam, Margaret, Declan, Sophie, Fiona, James, Viaan, Ashton, Ewan, Nate._

  
By the time he got to Declan, he was getting better. When he reached Viaan, he beat his record and had the cuff unlocked in under a minute. After that, the last three didn’t take him long.  
  


Everyone took a moment to stand, rub their ankles and take a bracing breath. Nate leaned slightly against Declan, who promptly wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. Making a ten-mile hike hopped up on drugs was _so_ not a good idea.  
  


“How long will they be out for?” Margaret asked tentatively.  
  


Tony closed his eyes again and sent out another wave, just to be sure.  
  


_sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep_

  
They were all pretty far down. But who knew how much time that would translate to. An hour? Two? Five?

  
“No idea,” Tony admitted easily. Since Crabbe and Goyle were on hand, Tony took the chance to riffle through their pockets. Wallets but no phones or torches. If they were clever, there wouldn’t be any phones on site at all. It’s what Tony would have done.  
  


Finding nothing useful, he instead went about handcuffing the two with the many chains they now had on hand. Seeing him at work on Goyle, Michael set about securing Crabbe.  
  


“Do you think people are looking for us?” Sophie asked tentatively as they finished up, glancing out the open doors, “Maybe we can wait?”  
  


“Too dangerous,” Fiona negated at once, which saved Tony the trouble. “Maybe we can leave a message?”  
  


Risky. The rescuers would have to be a couple of hours away and have back up that was reachable. Not an impossibility. And if the feds got here and found a message, they could send said back up to the house Tony hoped like hell was under 10 miles away. That way, anyone who followed them would walk right into the waiting cavalry.  
  


He swapped a glance with Michael.  
  


“Might be worth taking the gamble,” he agreed, “But a hell of one to take.”  
  


Weighing it up, Tony decided to go for it. As a Detective himself, he couldn’t help but hope that _someone_ was on their trail. A group of missing Guides would have been big news. The agencies would surely have their best people on the job.

  
Picking up his knife, he went to the closest wall and began to chisel a message into the panels. Conscious as he was of the ticking clock, he kept it as brief as possible and included only the most important information.  
  


When he finished, he didn’t stop to admire his work or to second guess himself. He headed straight for the open door and proceeded to usher everyone out. Because he figured he should at least try to disguise their escape, he pulled the doors closed behind them and slid each of the three locks into place. It wouldn’t buy them much time, but it was something.  
  


“Alright, Super Guide,” Michael remarked, “Which way?”  
  


Tony took a second to orientate himself and hoped fiercely they wouldn’t stumble across any waterfalls or cliffs.  
  


Then he began to walk.

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

Perp number two was Greg Hamilton. Guy was pure muscle and likely a hired hand. Not too bright, which is why he’d though it safe to use an internet café. Unlike Kyle Angus, Greg had gotten involved in shady business ventures before. Right at the top of his list of known associates was perp number three. Sam Yates. More muscle.

  
It took them a day but, happily, Sam was an even greater idiot than Greg. He’d left his phone hidden (poorly) in his unit. Once they managed to unlock it, the information they needed was right there. In a fitness app Sam had allowed to track his movements and which had data going back a solid three months. It was through tracking his movements that they nailed the only perp still unnamed.  
  


The Military guy. Petty Officer Zayne McCord.  
  


Dishonourably discharged for excessive violence, he had a history of anger management issues and pretty crime. Somehow, he had so far managed to avoid prison.  
  


He also happened to come from money. As such, he had three properties that were suitable for stashing hostages.  
  


Tyler got them a map and proceeded to pin each one.  
  


Just their luck, they were far enough apart that hitting them simultaneously wasn’t going to work.  
  


Jethro called the Baltimore Police Sergeant.

  
“What do you need?” she asked at once. Jethro laid it out for her.

  
“I’ll send my people out at once,” she agreed once he’d rattled off the addresses, “Where are you going to be? I’ll put my most experienced officers at the other two locations.”  
  


Jethro pursed his lips together and studied the map more closely. If he were McCord, where would be go?  
  


“Shenandoah.”  
  


-o-o **Tony** o-o-

  
As it turned out, apps and people didn’t give directions in a straight line for a damn good reason. It was a bitch.

  
No cliffs or waterfalls, thank Christ, but plenty of other hazards. A slight drop that they’d had to slide down. A fallen tree so large it required three of them climbing over at a time to manage it and Michael, as the strongest, doubling back and forth. Worst of all was the river they were forced to cross where Margaret had admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that she couldn’t swim. Instead, she’d clung to Tony’s shoulders as he propelled them both across.

  
Walking in a straight line, the journey would have taken them maybe three hours. At the rate they were going, it would probably take them five.  
  


They flopped down for a break after the river, wet and shivering. It was freshwater, so they all took the chance to drink and refill their water bottles. Sophie, in particular, was starting to look peaked. Not used to so much exercise, Tony gathered. Viaan was also beginning to flag. He now had a member of their team supporting him on each side. Margaret, apart from her inability to swim, was doing a lot better than Tony had expected.

  
“I think we’re almost halfway,” Tony told them all, tapping into his internal compass. _that way_ , it said, unapologetic.

  
Since they were resting, Tony took the time to cast himself back to the shed. Crabbe, Goyle and Jordon Belfort were still out cold. Hans was beginning to stir.  
  


Great. The Marine. That was just their luck. Of the four bad guys, he was the one most likely to have some sort of tracking experience.  
  


Tony bit his lip. Mentioning it to the team would be counterproductive, he decided. It wouldn’t make them go any faster and would just stress them out. One bad guy wouldn’t be much of a problem, even one that was bound to be much faster than a group travelling together. Worst case scenario, Tony could knock him out again.

  
Jesus. He was really hoping for that cavalry.

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

  
The lights were on but the place was suspiciously quiet.  
  


Jethro gestured to the others and took point as the officers accompanying them fanned out into formation.  
  


The front door was open.  
  


Jethro sidled in and cleared the room. Then, piggybacking off Fornell, they made their way through the rest of the house, June and Tyler on their sixes.   
  


They found Kyle Angus in the kitchen, sprawled out on the floor. Jethro ducked down and felt for a pulse. Not dead, just unconscious.  
  


Tyler paused maybe half a second before moving forward to secure him.  
  


_“Ground to Charlie. There’s a shed out back,”_ a voice on the radio informed them, _“Should we proceed? Over.”  
  
_

“Charlie to ground, that’s a negative on the shed,” Jethro snapped back, “Hold down the perimeter and send someone to the kitchen. We have a perp in custody. Unconscious but breathing. Over.”  
  


_“Copy that.”  
  
_

They left Tyler behind to guard the prisoner and made their way to the shed. Like the house, the door stood slightly ajar.  
  


The room inside was horrifying.  
  


It was filled with chains. Dozens of them, all tethered to the wall and all of them empty.  
  


Well. _Most_ of them empty.

  
“Charlie to ground, we have two more hostiles in the shed. We’re gonna need some lockpicks. They’re chained up.”

_  
“Copy that.”_

  
“What on earth happened here?”  
  


“I think I know,” Fornell replied, gesturing sharply at a nearby wall.  
  


Curious despite himself, Jethro began to make his way over. He got about three feet before he found himself frozen solid.  
  


What in the name of…it was…

  
It was like he’d been living his whole life underground and had just seen the sky for the first time, or felt the wind through his hair. There was a warming sensation that reached right into his bones and wormed its way into his marrow. It became, in a single heartbeat, as necessary as air itself.  
  


_Guide.  
  
_

A part of him was fighting back. Reminding him that this was neither the time nor the place.  
  


The rest of him didn’t give a shit.  
  


God. How had he lived without this? Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’s been half dead all this time and just hadn’t know it. Not until this very moment where, suddenly, the world had meaning again.

  
“Gibbs? Gibbs! Jesus Christ, man, snap out of it.”  
  


A hand smacked him resoundingly across the back of the head and Jethro jerked in shock. Fornell looked completely impenitent. June, by contrast, looked horrified.

  
“Your Guide was here,” Tyler observed, re-joining them and stating the fucking obvious. “Who?”  
  


As if Jethro could tell that from a _scent_. He glared at the other Sentinel and the man wisely took a step back.  
  


“Slim chance my ass,” Fornell muttered, “Look, you good or do we need to bench you? Maybe cuff you to a wall?”  
  


They didn’t have the time to find a replacement. Not this close to the end game. Besides, Jethro was damned if he was going to let down another Guide. Not again.  
  


So he pulled himself the fuck together, stamped down his sense of smell, and forced his attention onto the wall.  
  


Someone had carved a message into the wooden panels.  
  


_‘AD + 11G’_ was written next to a small tick. Directly below was a strange crescent shape and a picture of a door. Below that was a crude drawing of a house and the words _‘8-12M’_ next to an arrow pointing left _._ Last of all was a circle equipped with devil horns and the number 4 scrawled inside it.  
  


“What on earth?” June muttered as she took it in. Jethro blinked at her in surprise. He understood it perfectly.

  
“Anthony DiNozzo and the eleven Guides are safe,” he translated, pointing to the top row, “The shape is the current phase of the moon and it’s next to a door that stands in for an exit. They left tonight. They’re heading to a house that’s eight to twelve miles away in a south westly direction. Circle is a devil. There were four perps left behind.”

  
June looked suitably impressed.

  
“We’re missing McCord,” Tyler noted, “No doubt, he’s followed them on foot.”  
  


“If we can find this house, we might be able to intercept them and meet McCord head on.”  
  


“But how would they know about the house?” June asked, “They’re all drugged to the gills! And why on earth would McCord follow them? Surely he can’t hope to drag all eleven Guides back!”

  
“He’s not looking to drag them back, he’s looking to get rid of them,” Jethro snapped back, feeling a possessive fury bubble forth from deep in his chest, “They’ve seen his face. That makes them a liability.”  
  


“But we know who he is,” June protested.

  
“Yeah,” Fornell agreed, “But he doesn’t know that.”

  
“We’re wasting time,” Jethro barked, temper fraying, “Fornell, go organise a group of officers to follow McCord on foot. Hopkins, I want a list of every house in a fifteen-mile radius from this location and I want it yesterday. Brown, track down those officers with the bloody lockpicks and make sure we have all the perps secured.”

  
Sensibly, no one argued with him. Fornell clapped him on the shoulder before heading off but Jethro quickly shrugged the touch off and gestured him away. Then they were gone.  
  


Cautiously, he began inching his sense of smell back up.

  
There were all the things one would expect to smell in a room that had held a dozen people in a small space for three days: sweat, blood and the acidic tang of human waste.  
  


The smell of Jethro’s Guide wound through it, under it, around it. Dialling himself up another notch, he was sure he could detect a faint musky odour. _Male_ , Jethro’s gut said.   
  


Automatically, he brought up his mental list of all the missing male Guides. Michael, Ashton, James, Liam, Ewan, Viaan, Nate and Declan.

  
Michael was a Lieutenant. Though profession wasn’t the best indicator of compatibility, it was a pretty good start. Truthfully, he was more surprised by the gender. He’d always paid more attention to women than men and his first Guide had been female.  
  


_Shannon._

  
An ache went through him.

  
For a long moment, he allowed himself to remember her. The way she’d laughed. How she’d chewed her lip when she was thinking. Her nails, always meticulously painted.

  
Rejecting a Guide was rare but it wasn’t unheard of. Jethro knew he could still walk away. Provided he alerted someone at the centre and kept his distance in order to prevent a pre-bond from developing, the Guide would be fine. Especially if it were Michael. That guy looked like he had his life firmly under control.

  
That smell, the rightness in his soul, continued to tease him but Jethro was more than his instincts. A Guide was a big decision. Jethro wasn’t the type to do something half-assed, not even fall in love. If he was in then he was all the way in.  
  


Jethro bowed his head and wondered if he was ready for that. He thought again of Shannon. He wondered what she would think about him bonding again. Maybe it was better not to risk it.  
  


His Sentinel roared its protest inside him and a stab of pain flared in his palms. Looking down, Jethro saw that he’d clenched his fists hard enough to pierce the skin.

  
Abruptly, he snorted. Really, he knew Shannon far too well. If she had any idea that he was thinking about rejecting a Guide for someone so long gone, she’d kick his ass. In fact, Shannon probably would have pointed out that she’d been gone almost a decade. He’d always miss her but maybe it was time to stop clinging so desperately to her memory. She was never coming back. Perhaps it was about time he let her go.  
  


Jethro made to turn his sense of smell back down only to pause halfway through the motion. Another smell was teasing at the edge of his consciousness. Only barely discernible, but strangely familiar. Jethro turned it up another notch, raising his head in surprise as he finally recognised the scent. Plastic and gunpowder.

  
Spinning in a tight circle, he turned down his nose and sharped his eyes. Nestled among the rafters, paced in increments and creating a facsimile of a circle, were a series of bombs.  
  


Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:
> 
> I've done some woodwork. It isn't easy carving into wood even with the correct tools. Carving a message with only a small knife would be tedious in the extreme and I imagine Tony had to use a lot of geometric shapes and straight lines. Even so, he would not have the time or know-how to leave a more detailed message or to explain that he was also a Guide. Not the time or place for that. So he made it as simple and straightforward as possible. Gibbs, as always, has his six.


	6. Two Parts of a Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two halves work their way, unknowingly, towards the whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm super thrilled. I've finished the story and I'm actually sorta happy with it as a whole. We're in the endgame now, only one more chapter to go (I think). Also, I've reached 100 reviews which is a personal best for me. Thank you to everyone who helped me achieve it! You all are what encouraged me to finish this story at all. 
> 
> Enjoy and, as always, stay safe!

Chapter specific warnings: swearing (again)

Chapter’s Theme Song: [Biding My Time by Busby Marou](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHHyKw-r8cs)

-o-o-o-o-

_Apart  
_ _We are adrift  
_ _And worth less than the sum  
_ _Of what we could mean if we were  
_ _Combined_

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

  
Tony let everyone rest a half hour before jostling them all back to their feet.

  
Behind them, gaining steadily, he could feel Hans tracking them. Rather than allow him to close the distance between them, Tony decided to just knock him out again. Only he couldn’t. Something, some unseen force, was shielding his mind.  
  


How the hell had the guy gotten his hands on a Buffer?  
  


_Marine_ , Tony reminded himself. Buffers were standard issue with pretty much every law enforcement or peace keeping organisation. They were expensive but efficient. From what Tony knew of them, they protected the wearer against mind manipulation and made them more resistant to suggestion. The only thing they didn’t block was empathy. Which meant, at least, that Tony could still monitor him.  
  


Jesus, what an idiot. Why the fuck had he taken the bloody thing off at all? Tony would have kept his on hand constantly if he was in the middle of kidnapping and selling a bunch of Guides. Hans likely hadn’t thought it necessary. The drug was supposed to have rendered them all harmless.  
  


_Sloppy_ , the detective in Tony criticised.

  
He wouldn't waste time bemoaning things that worked out in their favour. Hans discarding the Buffer was likely the last piece of luck they were going to get. Tony didn’t doubt that the man had thought to take a weapon with him. Meanwhile, all Tony had was a knife. Knowing how far away he was would be their main advantage. And they’d gotten a very good head start. Even alone and moving quickly, Hans would be hard pressed to catch up.   
  


No point in tempting fate though, so Tony kept them moving.

  
Although it was unlikely their clothes would dry at night, they were fortunate that it wasn’t too cold. Tony wryly thought it was lucky they’d been kidnapped in spring. Had it been winter, they would have been utterly screwed.  
  


It was still a pretty miserable affair. None of them had jackets or shoes and many of the men had sacrificed their shirts so they could be ripped into strips of fabric and tied around their feet. The women had it even worse -Sophie and Fiona had worn dresses to the Match Making and Margaret was wearing a skirt that was too short to be comfortable walking long distances in. In the end, Declan, as the tallest among them, gave her his shirt. Fiona immediately set about showing her how to tie the sleeves and do up the buttons just enough to keep it in place around her waist. The single item of clothing went just past Margaret’s knees and she happily shimmied out of the too-short skirt.

  
Never one to stay silent, Tony told stories to keep them entertained. The others soon followed suit. Viaan had a tale about a neighbour, a hot night and a curious garden snake that had them all in stitches. Sophie was completing her doctorate and had some amusing anecdotes about university students. Even Michael, likely the most serious of them all, contributed a story about the Marines.   
  


It wasn’t much but it helped them pass the time and kept them moving. It seemed the worst of the obstacles were behind them because, for the next hour and a half, there was nothing too difficult to move around.  
  


“I need a break,” Viaan admitted, “What time is it, do you think?”  
  


They all shrugged. In the depths of such wilderness, it was hard to gauge time. The sky was blocked by foliage and it was impossible to see the moon or a lightening horizon.  
  


“I think they were feeding us dinner at around 8:00,” James put in, “We’ve been walking for, what, four hours? Including the break at the river? Must be about midnight… or thereabouts, anyway.”

  
“Urgh, I’m never going hiking again after this,” Sophie lamented, “It sucks. Are we almost there?”

  
While walking, Tony had kept up only a vague sense of the targeted emotion. Otherwise it became too distracting, especially since he was also quite concerned with focusing on walking through mountainous terrain in the middle of the night. At the edges of his consciousness, the emotion gave him the barest sense of which way to go and no hint at all on how far.  
  


Seeing everyone else was just as keen on an answer, Tony closed his eyes and reached out. This time, the act caused his brain to twinge a little, like he was flexing an overused muscle. Tony was once again reminded that he had very little idea what he was doing.  
  


Since he’d be useless to the others if he hurt himself, he took his time and felt his way carefully. The emotion came obligingly into sharp focus.

_  
alert, alarm, curious, titillated.  
  
_

Huh. The emotion (woman? Tony got the deep impression the person he was honed in on was female) was awake. A little cautiously, Tony swept himself over the surrounding area.  
  


They were close enough he could sense the house now. Along with the building he’d been expecting, Tony also detected cars, trucks and what had to be at least a dozen or so people. They all felt determined, alert and purposeful.  
  


They were also, by Tony’s rudimentary reckoning, around an hour’s walk away.  
  


“An hour or so,” he reported succinctly, “But the emotion has company. Her house is swarming with people.”  
  


“Feds?” Viaan asked hopefully.  
  


Tony shrugged, since emotions didn’t exactly communicate such affiliations. The people didn’t feel malicious but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  
  


“Feds aren’t subtle,” Michael put in, ever the pragmatist. “We’ll be able to tell what they are as soon as we see them.”

  
“What if they aren’t feds?” Sophie asked worriedly.  
  


Michael and Tony exchanged a look but neither of them replied. Tellingly, no one pushed them for one.  
  


They all knew the answer.

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

There were three houses within fifteen miles of the shed. Only one of them was in the direction the arrow had pointed.

  
Since Jethro believed in covering his bases, he sent back-up to the other two just in case. Having so many personal on hand was turning out to be a godsend, especially since they were having to rope off the shed, assign people to diffuse the bomb and extract the perps. No way could they have managed this with just the FBI or NCIS backing them up.  
  


He wondered if the Police Sergeant drank bourbon.  
  


With all the locations secure, Jethro drove his team to the house the Guide had carved into the shed wall. June spent most of the drive on the phone coordinating with the S&G Centre and making sure there were enough people on hand.  
  


“If their shields drop before we make it back to the centre, it’ll be bad,” she noted, “Eleven Guides are a lot and the people we have on staff that specialise in shielding are spread pretty thin right now. Trying to cover all the options.”  
  


“I’ve called the ones that were sent to McCord’s other properties back here,” Tyler put in, “Hopefully they’ll make it in time to be of some use.”  
  


Jethro didn’t reply, too busy watching the house that was slowly filling their windscreen.  
  


A woman in her mid-sixties stood on the perch, watching them pull up with over-large eyes.  
  


“Agent Gibbs, NCIS,” Jethro told her briskly as a dozen or so police cars, one van and two ambulances encircled the property. “We’re going to be disrupting the rest of your night.”  
  


“Goodness,” she managed, looking increasingly overwhelmed as Fornell, Tyler and June showed their own badges and made further introductions. “What do you need me to do?”

  
“Agent Fornell will let you know what we need,” Jethro assured.

  
“Yes of course,” the woman agreed mindlessly, “Please, make yourself at home.”

  
Fornell and a member of the Baltimore PD made their way inside. Jethro didn’t join them, instead choosing to do a careful survey of the property’s perimeter. Unsurprisingly, it was all but surrounded by wilderness.  
  


“Impossible to tell where they’ll emerge,” Tyler observed resignedly.   
  


“No helping it,” Jethro snapped back, “Let’s divvy it out.”  
  


With quick efficiency, they gathered half a dozen warm bodies and paced them evenly along the property line. To the officers left over, he gave all the grunt work that needed to be done – such as rustling up some coffee to keep them all alert.  
  


And then, all there was left to do was wait.

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

Stumbling blindly into an ambush of wannabe kidnappers seemed like a bad idea.

  
So, when Tony’s _that way_ compass got strong enough to hit him over the head, he and Michael continued on alone.

  
“What if you don’t come back?” Sophie asked.  
  


“If we don’t come back,” Tony replied, “Hide out here as long as you can and then try again. Hopefully, anyone lying in wait won’t be that keen to hang around.”  
  


None of them looked very reassured. Tony couldn’t blame them. The truth was, if the waiting ambush was meant for them and not for Hans, then all of them had reached the end of the line. They were all smart enough to know it, too.  
  


“We’ll come back,” Michael promised calmly, “This is just a precaution.”

  
That made the set of Sophie’s shoulders relax slightly. Clearly, she believed him. 

  
Hell, when he spoke like that even Tony believed him and he knew about Hans tracking them all. In fact, he would guess that the Marine was only an hour or so behind them. If up ahead was bad news, they would be utterly cut off.  
  


Good thoughts, Tony chastised himself.  
  


Shaking himself out of it, Tony got his knife ready. It would be as much use as a fish on a bicycle, but holding it made him feel better.

  
It was only a fifteen-minute walk before they were close enough to the house to glimpse it through the trees. Rather than approach straight on, Michael boosted Tony up the nearest tree. Scrambling as close to the top as he dared, Tony took in the view.  
  


No sirens or flashing lights but the Baltimore police cars were a good sign. The whole house was lit up and, reflected in its light, the people were easy to keep track of. _FBI_ said one vest. _POLICE_ said another.  
  


Carefully, Tony climbed back down and gave Michael a sit rep.

  
“Unlikely the kidnappers would bother disguising themselves,” Michael noted, “We’re probably good.”

  
“Thank fuck,” Fiona sighed when the two of them reported back, “I would literally kill for a cup of coffee.”

  
“Or proper clothes,” Margaret added.

  
“Or a shower,” Ewan chimed in.  
  


Jesus, a shower would be good. A really hot one that would turn his skin pink. Tony spent a moment just imagining it. Then he set about prodding everyone into setting a brisk pace.  
  


Despite the (hopefully) imminent rescue, Hans was still just behind them and they’d wasted half an hour making sure those waiting up ahead were friendlies.  
  


As a result, they now had very little time to spare.

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

By the time an officer on the eastern border sent up an alert, they had everything ready.

  
As such, the hostages stumbling out of the forest line were corralled almost immediately towards the house and plied with blankets.

  
Jethro kept a careful distance at first, his Sentinel pulling at the bit.

 _  
Steady_ , he snarled at it. It sullenly collapsed into an anxiously vibrating pile of impatience. Jethro ignored it. Instead, he observed the Guides as they were ushered into the house.  
  


The all looked pretty terrible. Tired, filthy and only partly dressed. Jethro quickly picked out the male guides, matching files to faces one after the other.  
  


Michael… Ashton… Declan… Viaan… Nate… Ewan… Liam… James.

  
None were his Guide.

  
Jethro frowned bemusedly as the last male Guide, James Franks, disappeared into the house.

  
Maybe he’d been wrong after all and his Guide was female? Rule fifty-one was certainly a possibility but he struggled to accept it. He’d been so _sure_.

  
“That detective, DiNutzo or whatever, is asking to speak to the one in charge,” Fornell reported, watching him warily and holding out a cup of coffee, “He says its urgent. Is that you, or are you rethinking that benching offer? Happy to head slap you again if you need it.”  
  


Jethro huffed in frustration, snatched up the coffee cup and stormed inside.  
  


The officers had claimed the fireplace and managed to build up quite an impressive fire. The Guides had been situated directly in front of it as the paramedics went around making sure everyone was stable enough to transport to hospital where they’d undergo a more intensive check-up, likely in the S&G wing.

  
Only three of the Guides were female. None of them stood out to him. What the fuck was going on?

 _  
__Later_ , he told himself ruthlessly. Right now, the job came first. He turned to find the detective.

  
“-Gibbs will be here soon. You can tell him.”

  
“Tell me what?” Jethro demanded.

  
A man visibly started and spun around to face him.

  
Jethro dropped his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:
> 
> Rule 51 - Sometimes, you're wrong.
> 
> If you read, please review.


	7. Point of Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo
> 
> Not one more chapter after all? The rest of the story is being a pain to edit and perfect right now, because real life has ramped things up a little. Just the usual craziness that I think we can all relate to right now! 
> 
> So, rather than make you wait, I've taken what was going to be a long chapter and broken it into two so I can post what I have ready. Besides, I know you've all been anxious for our boys to meet and I didn't want to keep you waiting!
> 
> But, for sure, the chapter after this should be the last one. Maybe. I think.
> 
> .... you guys don't want an epilogue anyway, right???

Chapter specific warnings: swearing (again)

Chapter’s Theme Song: [Biding My Time by Busby Marou](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHHyKw-r8cs)

  
-o-o-o-o-

 _  
Ordinary,  
_ _Unremarkable,  
_ _Mundane  
_ _Was the day  
_ _Until  
_ _The moment  
_ _That our eyes  
_ _Met  
_ _From across the room  
  
_

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

His senses felt weird.

  
They… tingled. Something nudged at them insistently and, utterly befuddled, Tony raised his shields and bore down on them hard. He felt strained, overstretched and oddly anxious. Could Guides sprain their empathy? Tony had no idea.  
  


Not important.  
  


“Who’s in charge?” he asked an FBI agent as the man wrapped a blanket around his bare shoulders, “Or someone who can take point? It’s urgent.”  
  


“I’ll get someone,” the agent promised, ushering him into the house and then striding off with purposeful steps.  
  


The house was overly warm and bright enough to hurt his eyes. Tony allowed himself to be prodded into the living room, where someone had built a fire. The place was a hive of activity and everyone worked with purpose. Tony recognised a variety of different uniforms and was suitably impressed. They’d clearly taken this as seriously as he had predicted. Leaving the message had been a good call. 

  
People from the S&G began corralling people in front of the fire to check their blood pressure and ascertain that they weren’t about to have an empathetic meltdown. Tony built his shield as strong as it could go, projecting his trademark _these aren’t the droids you’re looking for_. He idly promised himself that he’d come clean as soon as Hans was dealt with.

  
It worked just as well the second time around. No one even game him a second glance, perhaps because no one was actually bothering to read him. As such, he ducked towards the back of the room and found an idle agent.

  
“Who’s in charge?” Tony demanded, “Where are they? I have something important to tell them.”

  
“Agent Gibbs from NCIS is leading the operation,” the agent replied promptly, “I can’t think it’ll be long. In fact, I’m sure Agent Gibbs will be here soon. You can tell him.”

  
“Tell me what?”  
  


Tony jerked in surprise, spinning sharply on his heel.  
  


His shields abruptly collapsed.  
  


Tony was immediately flooded with a veritable sea of emotion. So utterly overwhelming, he felt liable to drown in it. It was beyond anything Tony had ever experienced before. Completely outside the realm of his understanding. The equivalent of standing in the middle of a black hole.  
  


But he wasn’t afraid.  
  


There was too much joy to feel any fear. Joy and wonder and a touch of grief that tasted oddly bittersweet.

  
Tony, tired and drained and utterly unprepared, felt his legs give way beneath him. He never hit the floor. Instead, strong arms wrapped themselves around his midriff and guided him carefully down.  
  


The touch made everything a thousand times better/worse. Starbursts sparked behind his eyes and Tony could feel everything. _Everything_. It was too much and not enough at the same time.  
  


Wanting more, Tony opened himself up as wide as he could go. He was laid bare in that mindscape, but so was the man in front of him and, somehow, that made all the difference.  
  


How could someone that didn’t even know him cherish him so deeply? No one had ever really cared for him this much, not even his parents. How could he possibly trust this?  
  


His feelings of inadequacy barely managed to murmur a protest before they were quenched like a candle by a hose. The man smothered them by showing him his soul. Tony read everything there – the man’s solid nature and calm determination to do right by him. The willingness to surrender himself completely to the storm brewing between them. This was a man whose opinion didn’t change quickly or easily.

  
Without really knowing how, Tony began doing what he knew he needed to do. He began rebuilding his barriers, working to include this man inside them. Only it didn’t feel like a shield anymore. It felt like a bridge. And they built it together, using two distinctly different materials.

  
As he worked on his half, a hand crawled under his shirt and pressed against bare skin. As he strengthened it, lips parted against his collarbone, a tongue darting out to taste.  
  


The bridge hung between them. It hovered on the verge of completion, but Tony could do no more. Something was missing. As though knowing exactly what he needed, the man holding him pulled back and his hands moved down to clasp Tony’s wrists. Tony took a moment to take the other man in. It was hard to get past the eyes. They met Tony’s own and commanded his attention more skilfully than any teacher Tony had ever had.  
  


“Guide,” the man said, as sure and as enduring as the sky itself.  
  


There was only one answer.  
  


“Sentinel.”  
  


The bridge between them surged and something inside Tony sparked abruptly to life. Beside him, seemingly having come from nowhere, was a hyena. Tony knew it was his in the same, instinctual way he knew his heart was beating. That meant the wolf belonged to the man before him.  
  


Like their human counterparts, the animals stood observing each other. Then the man before him ducked down to steal a kiss, as quickly and efficiently as a hummingbird. As though that were a cue, the animals pounced and met with a shock that went soul deep.  
  


And the bridge between them solidified.  
  


It was better than the shield. Tony felt it down to his bones. His empathy was easier to control than ever and Tony knew he’d be able to keep others out with a mere thought, where before they’d always hovered inside his awareness. In fact, he felt like he could do anything. It was a frighteningly liberating feeling.  
  


The world settled back into place and Tony became aware, all at once, that people were yelling at them. Tony didn’t even bother paying attention.

  
“You had something to tell me?” his Sentinel prompted wryly.  
  


Tony released a short bark of laughter before sobering.   
  


“Hans was following us,” he reported succinctly, “Depending how long we spent doing… that… he might be here already. He was only twenty minutes behind us.”  
  


“Hans?” A nearby voice questioned hesitantly.

  
“McCord,” his Sentinel (Tibbs? Gibbs? Something with two b’s…) translated impatiently, “Brown, go deal with him. He’s likely armed, so approach with caution. See if you can rustle up some agents to take with you. Don’t let him get away.”  
  


“You’re not going?” Tony queried cautiously.  
  


“I imagine I’m soon gonna be too busy answering pointless questions,” the Sentinel replied with distaste. “Hans? Like Hans Gruber?”

  
“I didn’t know any of their names, so I made up my own,” Tony explained without a trace of embarrassment. “Hey, you’ve seen Die Hard! That bodes well for our future.”

  
The man huffed out an amused breath and sat further back on his haunches as if to observe him better. Tony smiled winningly, with everything he was, and the man’s hard expression visibly softened even as he quirked a brow.  
  


“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you Anthony?”  
  


“It’s Tony,” Tony corrected, even as he cocked his head sheepishly, “And yeah. Probably. Not my fault though!”  
  


The other man smiled and his eyes smiled with him.  
  


“I’m Jethro. And it’s just as well. I’m kinda partial to trouble.”  
  


Tony couldn’t help it. He laughed with delight.

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

Jethro seemed to have a skill for finding Guides too beautiful to be real.

  
When he made the other man laugh out loud, he knew he’d made the right decision. Every choice that had brought him here had been the right one. He couldn’t even regret not capturing McCord himself. Tyler had proven himself capable. Jethro had no doubt he’d return with the perp in custody. He was more interested in getting to know his new bond mate. Which reminded him…  
  


“Thought you were supposed to be a Mundane?”

  
His Guide, _Tony_ he reminded himself, shrugged expressively. Here was a man that said more with his body than his words, Jethro noted. He’d have to keep on top of that.  
  


“Thought I was,” Tony answered easily, “And then I wasn’t.”  
  


“He came online in the van when they doused us with a mild version of the Guide suppression gene,” a man Jethro recognised as Michael put in, “He nearly died before he managed to build his shield.”  
  


Jethro reflexively tightened his grip around Tony’s wrists even as he noticed that they were surrounded by a ring of concerned onlookers. Most of them wearing uniforms from the S&G Centre.  
  


“Who helped him stabilise?” one of them asked Michael.  
  


“No one,” the other Guide replied, “He stabilised himself. Built his shield from nothing.”  
  


“Tony did everything,” another of the rescued Guides put in. “He hid himself from the Sentinel holding us and found this safe house. He organised our escape and knocked the guards out when it was time to leave. He even carved the message.”

  
“Why did you leave?” one of the onlookers asked, “Why not wait it out?”

  
“It didn’t feel safe,” Tony replied, sounding defensive. Jethro felt his hackles rising.  
  


“It wasn’t,” Jethro cut in pointedly, “Whole place was wired with explosives. If he’d woken to find you still in the house, he would have pulled the trigger without any hesitation.  
  


Tony’s eyes widened noticeably and Jethro automatically utilised his hold to draw the other man into his arms. Tony felt good there, though Jethro couldn’t help but notice he was trembling slightly.  
  


“We need to get these people to a hospital,” Jethro pointed out, effectively stifling any further questions. “Did you figure out if they were safe to transport through the city or not?”  
  


“We’ve got hours left before the suppressors wear off,” An S&G member reported, “And Gibbs is right. Let’s get these Guides the care they need. Our questions can wait.”

  
“I’ll go with my Guide,” Jethro told them. It was a statement that left absolutely no room for arguments. He should probably mention something to Fornell though…  
  


Nah. The man wasn’t stupid. He’d figure it out.

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

Hospitals were a pain at the best of times. The S&G wing, though, was on a whole other level. It was the actual _worst_.

  
It took him a half hour before they let him have his shower. Then he proceeded to have five (five!) representatives from the Centre interrogate him six ways from Sunday.  
  


Tony recounted the events as best he could, falling automatically into the same mode he usually did when giving a debrief.  
  


“Guide gifts don’t work that way,” one of the idiots interrupted him (again!), “What you describe is impossible.”  
  


Tony harrumphed. He was tired, achy and well past the point where he could continue to endure this idiocy. Utterly at a loss, he looked to his Sentinel for help. The man didn’t disappoint.  
  


“Instead of telling my Guide he can’t do things he’s already fucking _done_ , maybe try and do something useful,” Jethro snarled, turning to glare fiercely at the huddling group. “Like let him get some goddam sleep.”  
  


They all immediately pinwheeled away, scrambling towards the door.  
  


“We’ll, uh, we'll just let you rest then,” the middle guy managed, ushering his colleagues out. Tony, utterly bemused, just watched it happen.  
  


Wow. His Sentinel was _bad ass_.  
  


“We recommend you don’t bond in the meantime,” another advised, ducking partially behind the door.  
  


“We already bonded,” Jethro disputed, “Did that at first contact.”

  
The woman gasped and parted her lips (probably to tell them bonding didn’t work that way, Tony thought sourly) but Jethro scowled at her so furiously that she visibly swallowed her words. Then, mercifully, they were gone.  
  


“I want you at every briefing ever,” Tony told him admiringly.

  
“You can,” Jethro pointed out, voice much gentler now he wasn’t dealing with incompetent staff, “I was hoping you might want to work together. Either in Baltimore at the BPD or in DC at NCIS. I’m not picky.”  
  


“You’d come to Baltimore with me?” Tony checked tentatively.

  
“If you like,” Jethro agreed easily, “If that’s where you want to be. After this, you’re bound to be beating job offers off with a stick. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”  
  


“Woah, you’re really all in,” Tony marvelled, a little intimidated.  
  


“NCIS is a post I’ll retire from,” Jethro pointed out, “You still have a whole career in front of you. Seems only fair you choose the work environment. Not much of a sacrifice.”  
  


“Why NCIS?” Tony asked curiously, “You a Marine?”  
  


“Sniper,” Jethro agreed, sounding surprised. Likely that Tony even knew what NCIS was. It was a pretty niche agency. “And a Gunny Sergeant.”

  
“Reserves?”

  
“Not since my wife and daughter were killed. I became too much of a risk after that.”

  
Hence the faint stirrings of grief he could feel, Tony gathered. No fucking wonder.

  
“That sucks.”  
  


“Every day,” Jethro admitted, “Losing my first Guide was something I only barely survived. I wouldn’t survive losing another.”  
  


“…We’re really bonded?”  
  


At once, Jethro reached across the bedsheets and took Tony’s hand in his own. Tony clearly wasn’t masking his uncertainty very well. Thank god Jethro wasn’t the one with empathy, Tony thought. He’d never be able to hide a thing!  
  


“Yes Tony,” he assured, “We bonded in the house.”  
  


“When we built the bridge,” Tony guessed, “And you… you imprinted on me?”  
  


“Sight, sound, touch, smell, taste and soul.”  
  


“The animals were the soul?”  
  


“Yep,” Jethro confirmed, “Representations of it, at least.”  
  


“I’m not very knowledgeable about S&G matters,” Tony admitted, in case it wasn’t already really fucking obvious, “But I… I thought bonding required sex?”  
  


“Usually,” and damn him, he didn’t look the least bit embarrassed, “But not always. Though they’re rare, platonic bonds exist.”  
  


“But ours isn’t one, right?” Tony checked. The hold around his hand tightened.  
  


“Hell no.”  
  


That was a relief. Tony knew himself well enough to know he wouldn’t have done well with a platonic bond. He tended to invest everything of himself when it came to the relationships that mattered and not receiving the same in return would have killed him. Maybe that’s why he’d been so reluctant to forge any new ones.  
  


“Hey,” Jethro snapped gently, shaking Tony out of his thoughts, “We’ll figure it out. There isn’t any rush, Tony. I’m not going anywhere.”

  
The words were said with an iron certainty that resembled a vow. This was a man who didn’t give platitudes. Tony got the impression he rarely said things he didn’t mean.  
  


“Yeah,” Tony agreed softly, turning his hand around to better return Jethro’s hold. “Okay.”  
  


Despite how many questions he still had, Tony found himself too exhausted to voice them. Instead, trusting that his Sentinel would watch his six, he allowed himself to close his eyes and go to sleep.  
  


In his dreams, a hyena and a wolf loped across the desert hunting prey. As they ran together through a desolate wasteland, the wolf howled and the hyena laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:
> 
> I imagine Tony's hyena is female. Female hyenas are awesome. Hyenas in general are pretty amazing. They reminded me of Tony, so I went with it. If anyone else cares about my reasoning, go here:
> 
> https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/63455/12-wild-facts-about-hyenas  
> https://theconversation.com/in-defence-of-hyenas-theyre-not-just-scavengers-112166
> 
> Also, fun fact, this is the only chapter where the title isn't taken from the poem at the beginning. I usually write the poem that matches the chapter well enough that the title can come from it. This time, it didn't feel quite right but I liked the poem I wrote and didn't want to change it just to work in the title I thought up. So I shrugged my shoulders and kept them seperate this time. I happen to think they still work pretty well together.
> 
> If you read, please review!


	8. The End of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes have found each other.
> 
> Now, they have to figure out everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me the most trouble to write and, oddly, the most satisfaction. I hope that comes across as you read it and, hopefully, I've managed to do our boys justice.
> 
> Additionally, please note that the only thing original about this story are the poems. I don't own the people portrayed in the NCIS fandom -I've just been playing in the sandbox for a while.

Chapter specific warnings: swearing (as always). Though there are faint sexual undertones, this fic will keep its M rating. Sorry!

Chapter’s Theme Song: [“Dawn” by Dario Marianelli](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wGzDFbjFko)

-o-o-o-o-

_A long and winding road I’ve walked  
_ _Full of obstacles and sorrow  
_ _With trips and tricks and blunders  
_ _And no clear sight of tomorrow  
_ _It has twisted, it has crumbled  
_ _It has swayed beneath my feet  
_ _I have fallen, I have stumbled  
_ _Through rain and wind and sleet  
_ _The way ahead was screened by fog  
_ _Made of uncertainty and fear  
_ _Yet all along, each and every step  
_ _Conspired to lead me here_

-o-o **Jethro** o-o-

The S&G personnel found Tony endlessly fascinating.  
  


Jethro had to watch them closely. He made the mistake of leaving Tony’s side to grab some food and returned to find hospital staff trying to test the limits of Tony’s gifts.  
  


He didn’t leave Tony’s side again.  
  


In the end, he resorted to making threats. Though Jethro didn’t usually bother with showboating, he’d made connections during his time on the job. To keep Tony safe, he had no hesitation in using them. He made sure the S&G Centre knew it and, grudgingly, they’d backed off.

  
“He’s unique, Agent Gibbs,” one of them tried a last-ditch appeal, “We’ve never seen anyone like him. How can we hope to help him if we don’t figure out why he can do what can do?”  
  


“Don’t care,” Jethro cut back viciously, “He doesn’t need your kind of help.”  
  


Seeing the resolute expression on his face, the man caved. He looked decidedly unhappy about it. Jethro decidedly didn’t give a fuck.

  
“He wasn’t wrong,” Tony managed when they were alone again, “I have literally no idea what I’m doing.”  
  


“A lot of it is instinct,” Jethro answered easily, “As for what isn’t – I don’t trust the people here to teach you what you need to know. We’ll get you trained. But we get to be the ones who decide how it happens.”

  
“Fair enough,” Tony consented.

  
Jethro grunted in satisfaction, relaxing back in his chair. He’d quickly learned that his Guide was just as stubborn as he was. Wringing an agreement out of him was sometimes an exercise in futility.  
  


Despite the few stumbling blocks, they were actually getting along better than what Jethro had expected. Especially when one considered that they were spending days on end cooped up in a room together.  
  


Jethro didn’t really mind the enforced close proximity. The longer they spent together, the more Tony had started to relax. In the beginning, Tony had been almost manic in his need to keep himself entertaining. He’d quoted enough movies to make Jethro’s head spin and he’d cracked jokes almost constantly.  
  


As time had gone on, and Jethro had remained unmovable, that energy had slowly began to dissipate. Though it was hard for him, Jethro made an honest attempt to communicate. Since he sometimes had mixed success, he was often very glad that Tony could read his emotions. They probably left much less room for misinterpretation.  
  


Spending all this time unable to escape was probably doing his Guide good. Reassuring him that Jethro wasn’t going anywhere. He sure as hell looked better. Then again, not being shackled to a wall would do that to a guy. Jethro mostly suspected that, by this point, the hospital was keeping him admitted in order to have him on hand for further interviews. Jethro had been letting it go thus far because Tony had legitimately needed the care. Now that he was mostly recovered, however, that was going to change.   
  


“When do you think I’ll be able to leave?” Tony asked, as though reading Jethro’s mind. Frankly, Jethro wouldn’t put that past him.  
  


“Tomorrow,” Jethro promised, not willing to keep them both here past that.

  
“Thank god,” Tony sighed with relief, not questioning his assertion. “I’m sick of this hospital room. I want my own place. Not that it’s much better…”  
  


“About that,” Jethro started gruffly, feeling uncharacteristically nervous, “I was hoping you might want to live together.”  
  


“You want to me to move in with you,” Tony surmised, blinking owlishly.

  
“Yeah.”  
  


His Guide just watched him. Jethro fought not to squirm but he was quite certain Tony could feel how desperately he wanted this so he wasn’t sure it was worth much.  
  


“Okay,” Tony complied at last, as easy as that.  
  


“That’s it?” Jethro checked incredulously.  
  


“Yeah,” Tony shrugged, “I know myself too well. I can’t see this working long term without us living together. And besides, with the bond being what it is, I think living apart would drive us both crazy.”

  
That was likely more accurate than Tony knew. In fact, Jethro winced just imagining it.

  
“Have you given any more thought to what job you’re going to take?”

  
As Jethro had predicted, Tony had been visited by a revolving door of employment opportunities. Director Morrow himself had come by to deliver his pitch, which Jethro knew was no small feat. By comparison, Fornell had come to represent the FBI – likely because of his association with Jethro himself. Then there had been others, enough for Jethro to honestly be a little overwhelmed. It seemed every agency under the sun had thrown their hat into the ring, including the S&G Centre. He hoped like hell Tony didn’t go with that option. From them all, the FBI, the DEA and NCIS had made the best plays. Though Jethro internally cringed at the idea of working for the FBI, he tried not to let that discontent show, not wanting to influence Tony unduly.  
  


“I was thinking the FBI,” Tony replied only to let out a sudden start of laughter when Jethro immediately muffled his dismay, “Sorry, sorry, couldn’t resist. Of course I’m choosing NCIS.”  
  


Jethro reached out and, very gently, tapped the top of Tony’s head in reprimand. Rather than look at all apologetic, Tony grinned.

  
“You sure?” Jethro checked despite himself.  
  


“Yeah,” Tony shrugged, “I’m not exactly married to the other agencies and I can tell how much you love NCIS. They’re clearly like a second family to you. That’s rare in a workplace. I figure I could do worse than try to worm my way into something that’s pretty much ready-made. Less work, for one thing. Besides, all those other agencies insisted their offers would stay on the table. If I don’t like NCIS, I have options.”  
  


“They’ll love you,” Jethro assured because anything less wouldn’t be permitted. It hadn’t exactly escaped his notice that, apart from the job offers and the other hostage Guides, Tony hadn’t had very many visitors. None of those who _had_ come had been family. Also, quite tellingly, Tony had yet to say a single word about any of them. No parents, cousins, siblings, aunts, uncles – not even a grandparent. It had made Jethro reconsider his own relationship with his father. He had no doubt the older man would adore Tony and, clearly, the Guide needed that sort of unconditional regard. Mentally, he made a note to call Jack as soon as they were home.  
  


Well. Maybe after a week or two anyway. Jethro knew his dad far too well – a phone call would be the same as an engraved invitation to come and stay, as far as Jack was concerned.  
  


“I hope so,” Tony said, “Especially Ducky. I’m really looking forward to meeting him.”

  
Someone else to call, Jethro grimaced. Hell, he probably owed the man a massive favour for holding off Abby. He didn’t imagine that had been easy.

  
“It’ll keep,” Jethro promised, putting his pseudo family aside for the moment, “I want to get you settled in first.”

  
“Not hard,” Tony returned, “I don’t have much. We’ll be able to move me in pretty easily. The only thing that might cause problems is the piano. I’d… I’d really rather keep it. It was my mothers.”  
  


Jethro picked up on the past tense there immediately. He didn’t address it but he did file the titbit away.

  
“Do you play?”

  
“A little.”  
  


Jethro narrowed his eyes. That response had sounded far too nonchalant to be genuine. Why being able to play an instrument was a sensitive subject was a mystery but Jethro merely added it to the growing list of quirks and questions he was compiling.  
  


“I’ll make sure it’s taken care of,” Jethro assured. At once, the set of Tony’s shoulders relaxed and the Guide slumped further back into his pillows. He was starting to look a little weary again and, discretely, Jethro checked the time. 2100.  
  


“Get some sleep,” he advised, “You’ll need to be as rested as possible if you want to leave tomorrow.”

  
Tony grimaced at being told what to do but he still went ahead and did it, which said something about how tired he was.

  
As always, Jethro only let himself fall into a light doze. He’d wake at once if anyone entered the room or tried to disturb his Guide.

  
In the corner of the room, the steady ticking of a clock kept track of the passing time. Jethro synched his heartbeat to match and did what all good snippers did.  
  


He waited.

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

Watching Jethro wrangle the hospital staff was one of the most impressive things Tony had ever seen.  
  


It was actually incredible. The first time Jethro had informed the staff that they were leaving, the outcry had been insane. Tony had been half certain he’d be trapped in the hospital forever.  
  


But, somehow, an hour later, Tony was signing out AMA.

  
He still wasn’t entirely sure how Jethro had managed it. He’d seemingly _glowered_ everyone into submission. Even the fiercest doctor had been no match against his Sentinel’s barked orders and steely regard.  
  


It was hot as hell.

  
Best of all, it meant that Tony was finally able to step into fresh air for the first time in over a week.

  
“Freedom,” Tony sighed happily as Jethro started the car up. The other man let out a quiet snort and put the vehicle into gear.  
  


Ten minutes later, Tony was hastily taking all his admiration back. Obviously, the man had insisted on checking him out of the hospital because he wanted to kill Tony himself.  
  


“Jesus,” Tony yelped as they barrelled around yet another corner, “Oh my god, you’re crazy. You’re totally, utterly mad.”  
  


The amusement Jethro felt at the accusation wasn’t at all reassuring.  
  


More a confirmation, really.   
  


As some small measure of self-defence, Tony grabbed hold of what he was currently calling the _‘oh shit’_ handle and gripped tight. He was suddenly rethinking all his life choices.  
  


Thankfully, they careened into a driveway not long afterwards and Jethro abruptly slammed on the breaks. Tony jerked forward in his seat and hastily clambered out of the death trap.

  
He had literally never come so close to kissing the ground in his life. 

  
When he’d recovered from his near-death experience, he mustered up enough curiosity to look around.

  
The house was larger than Tony had been expecting and in a very suburban area. The lawn was tidy and unassuming, with absolutely no additives whatsoever. Tony got the sudden sense that all the life in the house had been carefully boxed away when Jethro’s first Guide had been killed. He would have to work hard to rekindle it.  
  


“Stop staring and come in,” Jethro prompted, setting straight up the path.  
  


Interestingly, he didn’t dig a set of keys out before opening the door, which struck Tony as oddly naïve. Then he was stepping over the threshold and the house didn’t even matter. Tony couldn’t have cared less about the décor.  
  


Because, by the window and clearly visible from the entrance, was the piano.  
  


Jethro had already ferried it over.  
  


Tony couldn’t help it. He went to it at once.  
  


It looked none the worse for wear. Someone had handled it carefully. Experimentally, Tony ran his hands over the keys and played a simple scale. It rang perfectly through the house.  
  


Tony felt a deep pang in his soul. Whisper quiet, Jethro came and stood by his shoulder. He wasn’t there to interrupt, Tony knew, but to lend his silent support.  
  


“I can’t believe you got it here so quickly.”  
  


“First thing I got out when you handed your keys over,” Jethro answered softly, “We’ll have to go over and sort through the rest of your things but I got the feeling everything else could wait.”  
  


Tony turned his head away, knowing he looked overcome and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Jethro moved into his space at once, curling a hand around Tony’s waist and pulling him in tight.

  
“Thank you.”

  
Tony could feel Jethro inhale against his collarbone, as though to brace himself.

  
“Will you play something for me?”  
  


Tony hesitated. There was no demand in the question, just an honest yearning that took him by surprise. Jethro had plainly figured out how important this was to him. He knew he was asking Tony to share a piece of himself he rarely revealed.  
  


Well, Jethro was all but laid bare in Tony’s mind. The curiosity, desire and longing were most prevalent right now, undercut (as everything always was) by a faint possessive love and a sliver of grief.

  
It was really only fair that Tony return the favour.

  
Tony sat. Without even thinking about it, his fingers began to move. Since he thought it captured his mood perfectly, he began to play the opening notes of [“Dawn” by Dario Marianelli](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wGzDFbjFko). The tentative stray keys flowed steadily into a crescendo and then Tony was playing in earnest, consumed, as he always was, by the music.

  
As he played, he was filled with the same sense of hope and optimism he always was when playing this song. It felt like new beginnings and the promise of better things on the horizon.  
  


As he reached the end, he let out a long sigh and brought the piece to a gentle close.  
  


Fingers curled gently around his chin, a question. Tony answered it by turning his head and, as a reward, was given a kiss.  
  


Flayed open by the song, Tony surrendered to it with everything he was. He could actually feel the walls he had tried to construct crumble into nothing. Here, he was utterly without masks. Here, he was utterly himself.  
  


It was as terrifying as it was liberating.  
  


Jethro wrapped a second arm around his back, as though to tether Tony in place. A tongue darted forth and, at once, Tony parted his lips to allow it entry.

  
This wasn’t at all like their first kiss, fleeting and breath stealing. This was something so much more, built as it was on the honest affection they’d built for each other. It demanded everything, would surrender nothing, and threatened to consume them both.  
  


It went on and on and on.

  
When they parted, it was from necessity rather than desire. Tony was breathing in gasps, his heart faster than a rabbit’s in his chest. He was also achingly, painfully hard. Right then, the physical manifestation of his desire didn’t even register as a priority. Jethro’s eyes were infinitely more important.  
  


“Thank you,” the other man breathed.  
  


By way of reply, Tony stole another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's pretty clear why I originally thought to leave the story here. Instead, we have one more chapter to go and it's an epilogue. Yeah, the epilogue is definitely a thing.
> 
> Thank you to those who encouraged me to go head and write it. I have sometimes felt that this story was controlling me, rather than the other way around, so the support has been very much appreciated. I'll try to get the last part up as soon as I can! 
> 
> If you have read, please review.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we all get some closure by looking through a little window into our duo's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of Gibbs' rules in this chapter/epilogue (like, a ridiculous amount). You can find all the ones mentioned in a list at the end of the chapter. Or, alternatively, you can also find them here: 
> 
> https://www.cheatsheet.com/entertainment/ncis-gibbs-rules.html/

Chapter specific warnings: swearing (as always). Vague references to child abuse (because of Tony’s childhood). Sexual undertones and references but no actual sex (sorry).

  
Chapter’s Theme Song: [Ain't Nobody (acoustic cover) by Jasmine Thompson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BG5ef-QOFRw)

-o-o-o-o-

 _  
_ _Our love is like  
_ _A promise  
_ _I’ve been waiting  
_ _The whole of my life  
_ _To make  
  
_

-o-o **Epilogue** o-o-

Sometimes, the rules changed.

  
Shannon had taught him how to make them. Tony was teaching him how to break them.  
  


Rule 12 was (naturally) the first to go. With the number of Guide and Sentinel pairs that ended up in law enforcement, Jethro was a little amazed it had held as long as it had. Ironic, though, that he’d been the one to break it. After that clusterfuck with Jenny, he’d been certain hell would freeze over first.  
  


Unexpectedly, Rule 6 had followed a month into living together, not long after they’d had their first fight. When Tony had hung pictures of his girls around the house and Jethro had collectively lost his shit.  
  


What had followed was a one-way shouting match where Jethro had snarled and Tony had, infuriatingly, kept his cool. An unpleasant way to learn that, while Jethro ran hot with anger, Tony ran ice cold.  
  


“I won’t let you hide them away, Jet. Not when there’s no reason to. Not when you don’t need to anymore.”  
  


Rather than continue fighting, Tony had walked away. Shannon had always gotten in his face when she thought he was wrong. Tony, by contrast, had a way of getting under his skin. It was, Jethro could concede with annoyance, an effective way to diffuse his fury. It left him far too much time to think.  
  


And to curse Tony for being right. The asshole.

  
Because Jethro _didn’t_ want his girls packed away. A part of him had ached, keeping them hidden. He’d only done so when he’d remarried for the first time and his new wife had insisted. In fact, none of his ex-wives had been interested in keeping the photos up. And so Jethro had taken them down, one after the other, until not a single one was left. Why had he done that? Why hadn’t he put them up again, once the divorces had gone through?  
  


He didn’t know.  
  


And of course, Tony had refused to accept anything less than an actual apology. Shannon had always been placated with gifts. When presented with one, Tony had visibly recoiled. It had taken Jethro the better part of a day to finally calm him down enough to get a genuine answer. For someone so verbose, Tony said frustratingly little.   
  


“My father used to hit me,” Tony had admitted at last, unwillingly, “He’d buy me things afterwards as a way to apologise. Or ask his secretary to do it for him. They were always pretty meaningless trinkets and the pleasure I got in receiving them would last as long as it took before he had to buy the next one. Which usually wasn’t long. Eventually, it stopped being okay. You can’t buy my forgiveness, Jet. It isn’t something with monetary value. I’ll give it to you freely enough if you ask for it.”  
  


Jethro apologised at once. In the back of his mind, he calculated how long it would take him to get to Long Island.  
  


“No killing my father,” Tony added.  
  


Damn it. Jethro had forgotten the downsides of being in a relationship with an empath.  
  


“Fine,” Jethro grumped unhappily, “And no more Rule 6. Not with us, at least. Don’t expect me to start apologising to everyone. And Rule 18 still stands.”  
  


Tony had laughed and agreed, with the proviso that it worked both ways. Jethro couldn’t exactly argue with that.

  
Some of the other, more procedural on-the-job rules, were bent instead of broken. Tony got into the habit of making Jethro a cup of coffee every morning as, amazingly, he was usually the first one out of bed. Since the Guide always made it perfectly, Jethro considered it an amendment of Rule 23. A disclaimer Tony smugly allowed. He was annoying when he knew he was right, Jethro learned. It was infuriating.

  
Of course, the vast majority of the rules remained unchanged. Living with Tony, Rule 5 and Rule 8 became a way of living. When a case ran hot, when tempers ran high, when the two men rubbed each other the wrong way, those rules gave Jethro an anchor.

  
As well, Tony tended to deal with strong emotions by playing them out on the piano. It was, Jethro soon grasped, utterly impossible to hold anything against the man when he played. The sight was pure kryptonite.

  
Being the amazing investigator he was, it hadn’t taken long for Tony to realise this and use it to his advantage. The man was far too clever for his own good. And he had Jethro thoroughly wrapped around his finger.  
  


Jethro couldn’t resent it too much. He was in very good company. As predicted, his father had all but adopted Tony as his own and spent more time talking to Tony during his weekly phone calls than he did to Jethro himself.

  
Ducky, as well, had taken quite a shine to the Guide. Easy to see why, since Tony let the M.E. ramble on to his heart’s content with nary an interruption. Even Abby, after a slight rocky start, had accepted Tony as a part of her flock. The two of them were now as thick as thieves, which Jethro frankly found a little disturbing.  
  


If they ever decided to take over the world, he was getting the hell out of their way. The world probably had it coming.

  
Hell, even most suspects liked the Guide. The man could charm pickpockets into putting money into his wallet. Watching him in interrogation was a revelation. It was one of the places Tony’s utter brilliance was impossible to hide. It got Jethro hot under the collar every single time, to the visible amusement of the on-call technician.  
  


It was a losing battle to hide how utterly besotted he was. Ducky teased him something fierce and Abby did likewise, cooing at him with an overabundance of fluttering eyelashes. The both of them, Jethro knew, were ecstatic over his newfound happiness.

  
Tony was a whole other kettle of fish. The man was visibly taken aback every time Jethro did something sweet. Dirty talk got barely an eye-blink out of the man and yet, the first time Jethro had called him _darlin’_ , the Guide had hidden his blushing cheeks in Jethro’s chest and refused to come out. Jethro had been utterly charmed. Naturally, the pet name had quickly become his go-to term of endearment when the two of them were alone. Tony became a flustered mess every time.   
  


The name _Jet_ had started popping up not long afterwards. A name no one else had ever called him. A name that was only Tony’s.  
  


It gave Jethro a silent, possessive thrill every time he heard it.  
  


The feeling was becoming a familiar one. He felt it at the most unpredictable of times: when Tony smiled at him, the small and honest one that was a rare creature; when Tony handed Jethro his first coffee of the day and their fingers brushed around the ceramic; when the Guide raised a brow in a silent question; when Tony whimpered his name in pleasure as Jethro sheathed himself home in his body.  
  


Every day Jethro learned something new about his guide and every day he found himself falling further in love.

  
A year into their relationship, Tony finally returned the sentiment. Jethro had promptly torn his clothes off and coaxed Tony into repeating it. His guide had done so, reciting the words with breathless gasps as Jethro had done his level best to make the other man come utterly undone.  
  


Afterwards, they’d curled up beneath the half-constructed boat and Jethro had slung an arm around Tony’s waist, pressed an affectionate kiss against his temple.  
  


“I love you too, by the way.”  
  


Tony huffed out a short laugh.  
  


“I know,” he agreed, “I’ve known for a while now. I just had to stop second guessing myself.”  
  


“Didn’t mind the wait,” Jethro assured easily.  
  


Tony turned his head for a kiss and Jethro obliged him at once. The Guide hummed in satisfaction, nestling his head on Jethro’s shoulders when they parted.  
  


“It’s strange,” Tony noted, eventually, “You know I wasn’t even supposed to be at that stupid Meet and Greet? Our friend Alison was meant to go with Josh but she got food poisoning and I ended up volunteering to go in her place. If Alison hadn’t eaten dodgy Chinese, I never would have been there. With the way I came online, I doubt it would have happened naturally. Without all that, we never would have met or bonded.”

  
Jethro tightened his hold.

  
“I don’t know about that,” he disagreed gently, “Maybe you would have come online regardless. Who could say? I’ve no doubt we would have crossed paths eventually. And that would have been that.”

  
“Really?” Tony checked, dubiously, “What if we’d met before I was online?”

  
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Jethro returned easily, “Five seconds in your company would have been enough. Rule Five.”

  
Tony laughed, eyes shining.

  
“Rule Twelve,” he returned cheekily.

  
“Stupid rule,” Jethro grumbled good naturedly, “I doubt it would have lasted long, even if you weren’t online. I love you for you, you know. Not just because you’re a Guide.”

  
“I know,” Tony agreed honestly. That admission showed just how much progress Tony had made. Jethro couldn’t help feel a surge of pride and, clearly sensing it, Tony tightened his grip on Jethro’s midsection.

  
They exchanged another kiss and when they pulled back Tony looked more at peace than Jethro had ever seen him. This is what he looked like when he felt completely secure, Jethro realised. Here, right now, Jethro was sure that Tony had no doubts whatsoever. His green eyes were clear and bright and filled with a quiet, sure happiness.

  
For a brief second, Jethro wished he’d thought to bring the ring down with him. It was still hidden inside a sock in his drawer upstairs. Jethro kissed Tony again, if only to stop himself from blurting out the question that was desperate to escape. This moment, naked and sweaty and covered in sawdust, wasn’t the best one to pop the question. Tony would never let him live it down. He had a plan, Jethro reminded himself sternly. It involved an empty cinema; Tony’s favourite movie and a little speech Jethro had spent days piecing together. His Guide would know just how seriously Jethro was taking this.

  
Though he probably _could_ stand to move his timeline up to, say, the very next day. Though the ring would keep, Jethro found himself disinclined to be patient.

  
Not when everything he’d ever wanted was right here, in his arms, warm and breathtakingly gorgeous.  
  


Oh yeah.

  
He definitely wasn’t willing to wait.

-o-o **Tony** o-o-

Jethro went to one knee in a deserted cinema, as the credits to _Casablanca_ rolled and Tony’s favourite song played over the sound system.

  
His Sentinel held Tony’s hand in his own and met his eyes. They were as warm and gentle as always and though the other man was speaking, Tony barely heard him. Those eyes contained more profound declarations than human tongues could ever voice. They also asked a question.  
  


Tony smiled because, after all, there was only one possible answer.

-o-o **The End** o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your information:  
> Rule 12: Never date a co-worker  
> Rule 6: Never say you’re sorry  
> Rule 18: It’s better to seek forgiveness than ask permission  
> Rule 23: Never mess with a Marine’s coffee if you want to live  
> Rule 5: You don’t waste good  
> Rule 8: Never take anything for granted
> 
> OMG, that's the last chapter!! It's finally done! Thank you everyone for the love you've given this fic -it has broken my records for comments, which makes me pretty thrilled. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have thoroughly enjoyed the ride! See you all who knows when. Stay safe out there!
> 
> If you read, please review!


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